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AUG 2 2003 



• 4 




DECEMBER, 1872, TO MAY, 1873. 




N E "W Y R K : 
327 to 335 PEARL STREET, 


• 1873. 

Digitized by the Internet Arcliive 

in 2013 



DECEMBER, 1872, TO MAY, 1873. 


With a Portrait of Joseph Arch. 

AIR, EARTH AND (Illustrated) S. S. Conant 545 

ALONG THE ELBE (Illustrated) Junius Uenri Browne 495 




Aunt Eve 509 The Dance 513 

" Toted Wood and Water'' 510 St. Thomas's Church 514 

" It was great Times in Town," etc ..... 510 The French Camp 615 

" Gentlemen dressed elegant, too" 512 Washington and his Servant 51T 



The *' Rambler" 865 Milk Vendors 870 

Ponta Delgada, St. Michael's 866 Water-Carriers 871 

The Poetry of Sailing 867 Camels and Cochineal Carriers 872 

View of the Peak from Orotava 868 Cone with a Temple on the Top 873 

Peasant spinning 869 Dragon-Tree, as it was 873 

Costume of Peasant 869 Guanche Mummies at Tacoronte 874 

The Postigo 870 Spanish Senorita 874 


BEAUTIFUL MISS VAVASOUR, THE Mrs. Harriet Prescott Spofford 852 

BIRTHNIGHT BALL, A Mrs. Julie Ver Flanck 543 



Plan of the Ground-Floor 201 Plan of new Reading-Room 207 

Interior of the new Reading-Room 205 

CADMUS, OUR DEBT TO ; Bev. William Hayes Ward 518 


An Indian Petition 518 Characteristic Letters from the Moabite 

Chinese ideographic Writing 518 Stone 522 

Babylonian ideographic Writing 518 Upper Portions of the Moabite Stone 523 

Assyrian syllabic Writing 519 Egyptian and Phoenician Characters 523 

Country 520 The Archaic Alphabet 524 

Egyptian hieroglyphic Letters 521 Greek Inscription from Sigeum 525 

The Name of Ptolemy (Ptulmis) in Hiero- The Greek Word xp'7'^'M«? written iu both 

glyphics 521 Directions 525 

Seal of Shallum 521 Greek Inscription reading from right to left 525 

CANARY ISLANDS, AZORES AND, CRUISE AMONG THE (Illustrated)... Miss Dahney 865 
CHILD, WHERE IS THE ? Mrs. Zadel B. Buddington 229 


The Dreamer 229 " The Child loves him" 236 

" Amid them all the Dreamer," etc 230 "The Sun is setting" 237 

"Our Father" 231 "Sleep in her Mantle folds him" 238 

" Why are we sunk in Deeps of Care ?" etc. 232 At the Altar 239 

The Birth Chamber— rich and poor 234 

CHRISTMAS CAROL (Illustrated Border) .' 228 

CHRISTMAS GIFT, THE Mrs. M. D. Brine 282 



Thor 241 The Christ-Child and Hans Trapp 249 

Odin as the Wild Huntsman 242 Christmas Masks 250 

Frau Ilolle, or Berchta, and her Train 243 The Christmas-Tree 2.'52 

The faithful Eckhart 244 ThePresepio 253 

Characters in the Christmas Plays 245 Under the Mistletoe 255 

St. Nicholas 247 Bringing in the Boar's Uead 256 

Christmas in France 248 

CONGRESS, THE LIBRARY OF (Illustrated) Ben Perley Poore 41 


CONTRAST William C. Jlichards 19 





Balandra Head, Entrance of Samana Bay. . . 641 Washing Clothes 650 

Discovery of Santo Domingo 642 Old Part of Santo Domingo City 651 

Maj) of Sainana Bay 643 A Dominican School 652 

Town and Bay of Puerto Plata 644 Business Street in Santo Domingo City 652 

Caves of Santana 645 Apartments 653 

Figures cut in the Kock 6-16 The only Steara-Engine in Santo Domingo . 653 

A Buccaneer 647 The Vega Real 654 

A Boucan 647 Market Square of Santiago 655 

Cioing ashore 649 Ilaytian Waiter 656 

Loading Cargo 649 The Guide 656 

Old Fort at Puerto Plata 649 Palace of Sans Souci , 657 


DELUSIONS OF MEDICINE Professor Henrij Draper, M.D. 385 


Gnomes terrifying a Miner 386 Cannel-Coal making Revelations to Dr. Dee. 390 

St. Dunstan's Negotiation with the Devil ... 387 Gettatura 391 

Protection from Witches by a Horseshoe. .. 388 Dutch Alchemist and his starving Wife 393 

Domination of the Zodiac over Man 389 Alchemical Symbols 394 

Whether the Sick would live, etc 389 

DIA]VIOND FIELDS, LIFE IN THE Allert E. Colenmn 321 


En Route to the Mines 321 The Promenade 329 

In the Diamond Yields 323 *'I am no Nigger!" 329 

Jumping a Claim 324 A Whirlwind 330 

" Some of you had better stand on the Table" 324 Drowned owi 330 

Our down East Native 325 The Market-Master 332 

" Throw it up, old Fellow !" 326 Map of the Diamond Fields 333 

A close Fit 328 Working in the Excavations 334 

DISARMED '. Laura C. Bedden 40 

DOME OF THE CONTINENT, THE VerplancJc Colvin 20 


The Life-Limit, Gray's Peaks 20 Georgetown 29 

The Snowy Range 21 Humility with Wealth 31 

TheBig-Horn 22 The Cony 33 

Gulch Mining 23 The Ptarmigan 33 

Iron Retort for Gold Amalgam 24 Gray's Peaks 34 

The Shaft 25 Gray's Peaks, from Glacier Mountain 35 

Cornish Skip 26 Map of Gray's Peaks and their Vicinity 36 

The Heading 27 The Dome of the Continent 36 

DOUBT Tracy BoUnson 658 

EARTH AND AIR S.S. Conant 545 


A lunar Landscape 546 Rain of Blood in Provence 555 

The Circle of Ulloa 548 Shower of Locusts 556 

La Fata Morgana 549 Shower of Beetles 557 

The Simoom 550 Dr. Richmann struck dead by an Electrical 

During the Passage of the Tebbad 551 Shock 558 

Sand Columns in the Desert 552 Har\'esters killed by Lightning 559 

W^ater-Spout at Sea 553 Curious Freak of Lightning 560 

Above and below the Rain-Cloud 554 

EASTERN WOMAN, AN, THE LIFE OF ...Edwin I)c Leon 364 


Interior of a Harem 365 Reception at a Soiree 367 

The Story-Teller in the Harem 366 At the Table 368 


Drawer for December 155 Drawer for March 635 

Drawer for January 315 Drawer for April 795 

Drawer for February 475 Drawer for May 947 


Chair for December 133 CmviR for March 607 

Chair for January 296 Chair for April 769 

CiLviR FOR Fi^bruary 452 CiLtViR FOR May 926 


United States Congressional : Opening of Third toral Vote counted, 786. Franking, 471, 623. Bank- 
Session of Forty-second Congress, 467. President's ruptcy, 623, 786. Shipping Commissioners, 623. Sen- 
Message, 467. President's Proclamation, 309. Vi- ator Caldwell, 785. Appropriations, 785, 942. Close 
cnna Exposition, 310, 467,471. Transportation, 467, of Forty-second Congress, 942. Geneva Award, 785, 
470. Subsidies, 467, 785. Indians, 467, 468, 470, 623. 942. Japanese Indemnity, 785. Copyright, 785. Mor- 
Ci\il Service, 467, 471. Treasury Report, 468. Inter- mons, 786. Asiatic Telegraph, 786. Special Session 
nal Revenue, 468, 469. War Department, 468. Sig- of Senate of Forty-third Congress, 942. Education : 
nal Service Bureau, 468. Navy, 468, 471, 623,785. Bureau of Education, 469, 623. Industrial Education, 
Post-office, 468, 471, 785, 786. Postal Telegraph, 470, 624. Educational Notes, 629. Education in Europe, 
623. Department of the Interior, 468. Patents, 468. 632. Vienna Exhibition, 310. Miscellaneous, 151, 152, 
Pensions, 469. Public Lands, 469. Bureau of Edu- 785. Elections : State, 149, 309, 94.3. Presidential, 309, 
cation, 469, 623. Agriculture, 469. New Members, 471. San Juan Decision. 149. Chicago Fire, 149. Com- 
469, 623. Horace Greeley's Death, 469. Civdit Mo- merce Statistics, 149. Transportation, 149, 471, 787. 
bilier, 469, 784. Amnestv, 469. Finance, 469, 623, Horse Epidemic, 152. Disasters, 152, 311, 473, 634, 
785. Boston Fire, 469. Soldiers' Homesteads, 469, 794. Mining Accidents, 794. Obituary, 1,52, 311, 473, 
623. Immigration, 471, 623, 633, 794. I^niisiana 634,794. Census Statistics, 310. United States Cen- 
Election, 471, 94.3. French Claims, 471. Agricultu- tennial, 310. St. John's Guild, 472. Criminal Code, 
ral Colleges 471, 785. Deficiency Bill, 471. Presi- 6:U. Industrial Statistics, 309, 310, 634. Governors' 
dent's Election and Salary, 471, 623, 785, 942. Elec- Messagcw, 623. State Constitutions, 624, 786, 943. 



Editor's Historicat, Record — Continued. 
San Domingo, 624. Southern States' Debts, 786. 
State Conventions, 786, Labor Commissions, 792. 
Jumel Trial, 794. New York Constitutional Com- 
mission, 943. Railroad Legislation in New Jersey 
and Illinois, 944. Dominican Parliament, 945. 

Central and South America. — Jamaica and Pan- 
ama Cable, 152. Cuban Taxation, 152. Mexico, 152, 
312. Wreck of the Guatemala, 312. 

Europe. — Geneva Tribunal, 152. Disestablishment 
of English Church, 153. Scotch Educational Settle- 
ment, 153. Labor Movements, 153. Mining Statis- 
tics, 153, 314, 474. African Slave-trade, 312. British 
Finance Accounts, 312. English and French Treaty, 
312. Wrecks, 313, 314, 474. Ballot introduced in En- 
gland, 474. Mortality in Great Britain, 474. British 
Parliament Opening, 787. British Ministerial Crisis, 


Gladstone's Michael Faraday, 137. Stone's History 
of New York City, 138. The American Historical 
Record, 138. Lyell's Principles of Geology, 138. 
Hope Deferred, 139. Macdonald's Vicar's Daughter, 

139. Pa! grave's Herman Agha, 139. Eggleston's End 
of the World, 140. Trollope's The Eustace Diamonds, 

140. Marjoiie's Quest, 140. Miss Mulock's Adven- 
tures of a Brownie, 140. Nordboff's California, 140. 
Miscellaneous, 141. Works on Art, 300. Michelet's 
The Mountain, 301. Flagg's Woods and By-Ways 
of New England, 301. Abbott's Force, 301. Tyn- 
dall's Forms of Water, 302. Reclus's Ocean, 302. 
Jones's The Treasures of the Earth, 302. Songs of 
Nature, 302. Illustrated Series, 302. Juvenile Books, 
303. Froude's The English in Ireland, 457. Hud- 
son's Journalism in the United States, 457. Tenny- 
son's new Poem, 457. Whittier's Pennsylvania Pil- 
grim, 458. Bayne's Days of Jezebel, 458. Holland's 
Marble Prophecy, 458. Watson's Outcast, etc., 458. 
Haweis's Thoughts for the Times, 459. Talmage's 
Sermons, Vol. II., 460. Orton's How and Where to 
Find Them, 460. Whitney's Oriental and Linguistic 
Studies, 460. Miscellaneous, 460. Frothingliam's 
Rise of the Republic of the United States, 612. Lan- 
frey's History of Naj)oleon I., 612. Miss Thalhei- 
mer's Manual of Ancient History, 613. Freeman's 
Outlines of History, 613. De Vere's Romance of 
American History, 614. Diillinger's Fables respect- 
ing the Popes of the Middle Ages, 614. Forster's 
Life of Dickens, 614. Plon's Thorvaldsen, 614. 
M'Carthy's Modern Leaders, 614. Schellen's Spec- 


Mac Cormac on the Origin of Tubercular Con- 
sumption, 142. Zuccator Copying Machine, 142. 
Proctor on Physical Observatories, 143. Chemical 
Composition of clean and foul Salmon, 143. Re- 
cent Upheaval of the Patagonian Coast, 143. Ab- 
sorption of Metallic Salts by Wool, 144. Generation 
of Eels, 144. Occurrence of Asphalts, 144. Riley on 
the Bark-Louse of the Apple-Tree, 144. Nature of 
Chloral Hydrate, 145. Nature of the blue Coloring 
Matter of Fishes, 145. Water Supply of Nismes, on 
the Rhone, 145. Chondrine in the Tissues of Tuni- 
cates, 145. Dentritic Marks on Paper, 145. Change 
of Temperature in the Northern Hemisphere, 145. 
Cyclones in the Pacific, 146. Pollard on Seasick- 
ness, 146. Mineral Sperm-Oil, 146. Testing Animal 
Fluids, 146. Solidification of Solutions in Country 
Air, 147. Alleged gigantic Pike, 147. Solubility 
of Salts and Gases in Water, 147. New Mode of 
printing Goods, 147. Kirkwood on Comets and Me- 
teors, 147. New fossil Deer, 147. Is Chloral an An- 
tidote to Strychnine ? 148. Purpurophyl, a Deriva- 
tive of Chlorophyl, 148. Blue Color from Boletus, 
148. Application of Disinfectants, 148. Prehistor- 
ic (?) Man in America, 148. Alcoholic Products of 
Distillation, 148. The Proboscidians of the Ameri- 
can Eocene, 304. The armed Metalophodon, 304. 
Skeleton of Baoussc-roussd, 304. English Eclipse 
Expedition, 304. Relation of European Nations to 
Scientific Progress, 304. Drifting of the Stars, 305. 
Left and right Handedness, 30.5. Trimorphous Con- 
dition of Silica, 305. Manufacture of Wood Pulp for 
Paper, 30.5. Deepest known Well, 306. Curious 
Habit of Bees, 306. Electrical Pyrometer, 306. Pal- 
mieri's Law respecting Atmospheric Electricityj 306. 
Cutaneous Absory)tion of Drugs, etc., 306. Utiliza- 
tion of Scraps of tinned Iron, 306. Indication of 
heating by Friction, 307. Effect of Variation of 
Pressure on the Evolution of Gases in Fermentation, 
307. Parasite of the Beaver, 307. Improved Mode 
of Nickel Plating, 307. Iron Sand on the Pacific 
Coast, 308. Palatme-Orango, a new Dye, 308. Di- 
rect Oxidation of Carbon, 308. Is the Lnicorn a Fa- 
ble? 308. Effect of Interment on the Structure of 

945. Defeat of the Irish University Bill, 945. Alsace 
and Lorraine, 153. Old Catholic Congress, 1.53. Prus- 
sia and the Catholics, 153. Prussian Counties Re- 
form Bill, 314, 474. German Emigration, 314. Bis- 
marck's Speech in the Reichstag, 787. Prince Napo- 
leon exiled, 154. French Elections, 314. French As- 
sembly, 473, 624, 787. Project of the Committtie of 
Thirty, 946. French Census, 624. Burning of the 
Spanish Escurial, 154. Spanish Cortes Proceedings, 
154. Slavery in Porto Rico, 474, 624, 946. Abdica- 
tion of King Amadeus, 786. Spain a Republic, 786. 
Russian Movement on Khiva, 474. Russian Com- 
munal Law, 787. River Po overflowed, 1.54, 315. 
Italian Civil Marriage Bill legalized, 624. Obituary, 
145,315,946. Disasters, 946. 

trum Analysis, 614. Evans's Ancient Stone Imple- 
ments, etc., of Great Britain, 615. Roe's Barriers 
Burnt Away, 615. Miss Ingelow's Off the Skelligs, 

616. Hale's His Level Best.-and other Stories, 616. 
Miss Alcott's Shawl Straps, 616. Children's Books, 
774. Middlemarch, 775. Farjeon's Bread-and-Cheese 
and Kisses, 775. Craven's Fleurange, 775. Gibbon's 
Robin Gray, 776. Mrs, Oliphant's At His Gates, 776. 
Mayo's Never Again, 776. Holt's Robert Tremayne, 

776, Library of Famous Fiction, 776. Warren's Ad- 
ventures of an Attorney in Search of Practice, 776, 
Harte's Mrs, Skaggs's Husbands, 776. Trowbridge's 
Coupon Bonds, 776. Johnson's Oriental Religions, 

777, Blackie's The Four Phases of Morals, 777. 
Gray's The Biblical Museum, 777. Channing's The 
Perfect Life, 777. Mrs, Ford's My Recniations, 777. 
Scheffer's The Worid Priest, 777, Christ at the Door, 

778, May's Hymns on the Collects, 778. Fiske's 
Myths and Myth-Makers, 778, Hazard's Santo Do- 
mingo, 778. Proctor's A Russian Journey, 778. 
Fisher's History of the Reformation, 929. Hallam's 
Constitutional History of England, 929, Drake's 
Old Landmarks of Boston, 930. Homes and Hospi- 
tals, 930. Arnold's Turning-Points in Life, 930, 'The 
True History of Joshua Davidson, Communist, 931. 
The Culture of Pleasure, 931. Speaker's Commenta- 
ry, 931. Murphy's Commentary on Genesis, 932. 
Darwin's The Expression of the Emotions in Man 
and Animals, 932. Cushing's The Ti-eaty of Wash- 
ington, 932. Smith's Art Education, 933. Uallock's 
Fishing Tourist, 933. 

Bone, 308. Connection between Pyfemia and Bacte- 
ria, 308. Polarizing Action of Tartaric Acid, 461. 
Influence of a. Diaraagnetic Body on the Electric 
Current, 461. Elfect of Bathing on the Weight of 
the Body, 462. Improving the Quality of poor Coal, 
462. Carbonic Acid in Sea-Water, 462. Glacial Pe- 
riod of the Northern Hemisphere, 462. Defects of 
Vision in the Young, 463. Allen on the Birds of 
Kansas, etc., 464. Filaria in the Brain of the Water- 
Turkey, 464, Physiology of Virus, 465, Report on 
Encke's Comet, 465, Spawning of the Steriet, 46.5. 
Use of the Bill of thelluia Bird, 465. On alcoholic 
Fermentation, 465. Effects of a superoxygenated 
Atmosphere on Animals, 466. Fayrer on Poisonous 
Serpents of India, 466. The Rings of Saturn, 466. 
Sulphohydrate of Chloral, 466. Discussion of Deep- 
sea Temperatures, 616. People using the Boomerang, 

617. Coincidence of Solar Outbursts and Magnetic 
Disturbance, 617. Noctilucine, 617. Rate of Growth 
in Coral, 618. Cure for Eczema, 618. The lost Comet, 

618. Physiological Action of Delphinium, 619. Na- 
tive Sulphuric Acid in Texas, 619. Archinology in 
America, 619. Prehistoric Remains at Soloutnv, 619. 
Effects of using Bromide of Potassium, 619. Spec- 
trum of Neptune, 620. Dry Method of cleaning soiled 
Fabrics, 620. Effect of bathing on the Heat of the 
Body, 620. Relation of the Barometer to the Aurora 
and Sun-Spots, 620. Prehistoric Remains in Wyo- 
ming, 620. Illustrations of North American Ento- 
mology, 621. Change of Level in the Northern Seas, 

621. Carbonic Acid of Sea-Water, 621. On th(! Physi- 
ology of Sle(!p, 621. Fossil Elephant in Alaska, 621. 
Physical (ieography of the Red Sea, 622. Injection 
of 8eptica;mic Blood, 622. Improved licjuid (ilue, 

622. Conversion of Indigo-Blue into Indigo- VVIiite, 
622. Fifth Report of tlie Peabody Museum, Cam- 
bridge, 622. Preservation of flesliy Fungi, 779. Red 
indelible Ink, 779. Milk-Tree 779. Hospital Build- 
ings, 779. Peh-lah Wax of the Chin(!se, 779. Ac- 
tion of amorphous red Phosphorus, 780. Prepara- 
tion of Meat Extract, 780. A tamed Wasp, 780. Mi- 
cro-chemical Investigation of Fibres, 780. Origin of 
Goitre, 780. Value of the Eucalyptus, 780. Antag- 


Editok's Scientific Reoorp — Continued. 
onisin of lielhidonna and Physostigina, 780. Linde- Separating Brass from Founders' Slag, 784. Chem- 
man on Gregarine in Chignons, 780. F'lora of the ical Composition of Dead-Sea Water, 784. Award 
Island of St. Paul, 781. Production of Opium in of Medals by the Royal Society of London in 1872, 
Germany, 781. Report of the Sutro Tunnel Com- 784. New Dyes, 784. Summary of Scientific Prog- 
mission, 781. Blue stampin,^ Ink, 781. Hair Eradi- ress, 933. Solar Spots and Protuberances, 937. Dis- 
cator, 781. Biographical Notice of Babinet, 781. covery of a Fragment of Biela's Comet, 938. Report 
OccuiTence of Gold in Sea- Water, 781. Unvarying on Tea Culture in Japan, 938. Blood Entozoon, 938. 
Course of Cirrus Clouds, 781. Antiputrescent Prop- Pyro-Plating, 938, The Crust of Meteoric Stones, 
erties of Silicate of Soda, 782. The Fallow Deer in- 939. Effect of Heat on the Temperature of Animals, 
digenoHS in Europe, 782. Maxite, a new Lead Ore, 940. Theory of " Taking Cold," 940. Cinchona in 
782. Active Principle of Vaccine Virus, 782. Rela- Jamaica, 940. Regulation of Time by Observatories, 
tion of Entozoa to the Grouse Disease, 783. Ozonized 940. Action of Cod-Liver Oil, 941. Laughter as a 
Water, 783. Coating Fibres with Silver, 783. Rub- Remedial Operation, 941. Process for Silvering Glass 
ber-Graphite Paint, 783. Geological Age of Wyoming Vessels, 941. Dolomites of the United States, 941. 
Coal, 783. Assyrian Tradition of the Deluge, 784. Benefits of Vaccination, 941. 

ELBE, ALONG THE Junius Henri Browne 495 


Bastion Rocks 495 King John of Saxony 503 

The Bastion Bridge 496 Monument of Augustus the Strong 504 

The Kiinigstein 49T The Zwinger, Dresden 505 

Hans Merchermann and the Children 498 Evening Concert on the Briihl Terrace, Dres- 

Niagara outdone. . . ; 499 den 506 

The Robbers of Burg Neurathen 500 Stairs of the Terrace of Briihl 507 

The Kuhstall 501 Porcelain Manufactory at Meissen 50T 


FLOWER'S EPITAPH, A Mlly M.Hutchinson 132 

GENEVA AND ITS BISHOP Eugene Lawrence 911 

GIFT, THE CHRISTMAS Mrs. M. D. Brine 282 

GOG, MAGOG, AND CO Lyman Abbott 681 


Gayant and his Family 681 Goliath and his Wife 686 

Gog-Magog 682 Lyderic and Giant Phinart 687 

Corineus 683 The Snap-Dragon 68T 

The Tailors' Giant 684 Snap-Dragon's Head 687 

Arms of Antwerp 684 St. Christopher 68T 

Antigonus 685 

GREELEY, HORACE Junius Henri Browne 734 

Illcsteation. — " Horace Greeley's Sanctum." 

HOPE KateHillard 116 

IMPROVISATIONS, V Bayard Taylor 97 

INTERPRETER, THE Kate Putnam Osgood 576 

IN THE SEED Kate Putnam Osgood 65 


JUSTINE, YOU LOVE ME NOT ! John G. Saxe 875 

LADY'S CHOICE, MY Kelly M. Hutchinson 451 



Interior of the Congressional Library 41 An Action postponed sine Die 45 

" I am completely floored !" 43 The Law Library 47 

"Light up!" 44 

LIFE IN THE DIAMOND FIELDS (Illustrated) Albert E. Coleman 231 

LIFE ON BOARD A MAN-OF-WAR (Illustrated) Commodore William Gibson 481 



Coral fishing 801 Lizzia Koellikeri 815 

The Aquarium 803 Venus's Girdle 815 

Sea-Weeds 805 Star-Fish 816 

One of the Infusoria 806 Cuttle-Fisli making a Cloud 81T 

Radiolaria 806, 807 An Echinus, or Sea-Urchin 818 

An isolated Polyp 808 Dactyloid Pholades 818 

A Hydraria 809 Teredo and his Pathway in the Wood 819 

A Campanularia 810 Chain of phosphorescent Salpas 819 

Turbiporine 811 Pearl-Fisher in Danger 820 

Neptune's Glove 811 Divers in their Armor 820 

Sea-Anemones 812 The submarine Man at his Work 821 

Beautiful haired Medusa 813 Toilers of the Sea 821 

The Physophora 814 




English Stage-Coach forty Years ago 161 Dutch Girls skating to Market 170 

Ancient State Chariot 162 "Alpenstock" 170 

Ancient Roman State Chariot 162 Ice-Sled 170 

Roman War Chariot 163 A Railroad Train 170 

Chariot of the " Rois Fain6ant8" 163 Under full Sail 171 

French Hunting Chariot 165 American River Steamboat 171 

Sedan-Chair, 17th and 18th centuries 166 Canal-Boat 171 

Sedan-Chair on Wheels 166 Street Car 171 

Spanish Mule Chair 167 Aerial Navigation 172 

The Palanquin 167 Afloat on a Raft 172 

The Ilowdah 167 Velocipede 172 

Russian Sledge 168 Baby's Trundle 173 

Reindeer and Dog"Sledge8 169 Invalid's Chair 173 



LOST I). R. Castleton 892 

LOVE AND LIFE Mrs. Zadel B. Buddington 526 

LOVE'S QUEST Ellis Gray 822 

MADRIGAL, A Frances M. Peard 50 

MALTA Herbert Bright 37 


StradaReal 37 City of Valetta 39 

MAN-OF-WAR, LIFE ON BOARD A Commodore William Gihson 431 


OfE the Highlands 481 The Story of Charleston Harbor 488 

Going into Commission 483 The Watch below 489 

Executive Officer's Report to the Captain . . 484 Crossing the Line 490 

Scrubbing Decks 485 Sunday Service on the Gun-Deck 491 

The Navigating Officer's State-Room 486 Burial of the Dead 492 

"The Mess" 487. The Typhoon 493 

MARCH Constance F, Woolson 508 



Portrait of Kublai-Khan 1 Fac-Simile of a Portion of the celebrated In- 

Marco Polo 2 scription of Singanfu 12 

The Great Khan delivering, etc 3 Cross on the Monument at Singanfu 13 

Arms of the Polo Family 3 Medieval Tartar Huts and Wagons 14 

Marco Polo, from a Venetian Mosaic 5 Bank-Note of the Ming Dynasty 16 

Marco Polo's Galley going into Action, etc.. 7 The Rukh 17 

Alau shuts up the Caliph, etc 8 Rukh's Egg 17 

The Oracular Trees of the Sun and Moon. .. 9 Dog-headed Men of Angamanain 18 

Chinese conjuring extraordinary 10 

MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS Lyman Ablott 347 


Mary Queen of Scots 347 Holyrood Palace 354 

Queen Elizabeth 351 Lochleven Castle 361 

Lord Darnley 352 Tomb of Queen Mary 363 

MISS VAVASOUR, THE BEAUTIFUL Mrs. Harriet Prescott Spofford 852 

M0NT-DE-PI^:T:6, the Herbert Tattle 337 


Initial 337 The Council 341 

The Exit 338 The Auction-Room 343 

" Salle d'Engagements" 339 Victim of the Mont-de-Pi6te 344 

The Cashier 340 Tail-Piece 345 



Dick 669 The old Dragon 676 

Subterranean 671 Bub 678 

The Flight 673 Domestic Bliss 679 

*' He killed ray Wolf" 674 Delusive Industry 680 

An Improvement 675 A Quandary 680 

MY LADY'S CHOICE Nelly M. HutcMnson 451 

MY QUEEN.— A SONNET.... John G. Saxe 438 

MY TRAMP Anna M. Hoyt 562 

NEW MAGDALEN, THE Wilkie Collins 117, 283, 439, 597, 753, 914 

NEWSBOY'S DEBT, THE Miss H. R. Hudson 876 


" He stood and gazed with wistful Face". . . 876 " I thought him smiling in his Sleep" 877 

" He made me fetch his Jacket here" 877 


NEW WORLD, CRADLE OF THE (Illustrated) S.S. Conant 641 

No. 289— A VISION Mrs. Frank McCarthy 210 

OLD KENSINGTON Miss Thackeray 79, 215, 395, 527, 721, 878 


Head-Piece 79 Head-Piece 527 

*' Come down directly," etc 80 "He saw a Nymph standing by the Railing"'. 528 

"Trust me" 216 "They found a poor black Heap lying upon 

** Aunt Sarah, do you know me ?" 227 the Floor," etc 727 

Head-Piece 395 Head-Piece 878 

" Her Heart began to beat," etc 399 " Does he call her his Rachel ?" 880 

ONE QUIET EPISODE Fannie E. Hodgson 431 

OUTCAST Leivis Kingslcy 173 

PEGGY'S PANDOWDY Mary N. Prescott 593 

PERVERSE, THE Mrs. Elizabeth Stoddard 830 


PIGEON VOYAGERS Miss E. B. Leonard 659 


Lowering the Pigeon 659 Interior of the Trap GoS 

Methods of attaching the Message 630 Improved Model of Loft 666 

Belgian Pigeons at the Palace of Industry. . 661 Stamping the Wing 666 

Mode of fastening Messages 662 Race of the Carriers 667 

The four principal Varieties 663 Pigeon-Basket 667 

Exterior of Pigeon-Loft 664 Newly hatched Pigeon 668 

Interior of Pigeon-Loft 665 




PRISCILLA Ndhj M. Hutchinson 187 

QUEEN, MY.— A SONNET John G. Saxe 438 

QUEEN OF SCOTS, MARY (Illustrated) Lyman Abbott 347 

QUIET EPISODE, ONE Fannie jE. Hodgson 431 


REPRIEVE Mrs. Harriet Prescott Spofford 91 

ROBIN'S-EGG BLUE Mary E. Nutting 336 

ROMANS, THE OLD, AT HOME Benson J. Lossing 66, 174 


Tomb of Secundus 66 Spinning 174 

Monumental Urn 66 Buckles 174 

Kej'8 67 Ear-Rings 176 

Knocker 68 Necklace, Bracelets, and Brooch 176 

Bells 68 Finger-Rings 177 

A Quadrans 69 Nuptial Ceremony 177 

Strigils 69 Toga Prsetexta 178 

Interior of Bathing-Room 69 The Bride veiled 178 

Kooms in a Bath 70 Nuptial Ceremonies in the Atrium 179 

Chairs 71 Phrygian Cap. 180 

Tables 71 Penula, or short Toga 180 

Kitchen Utensils 72 Senator and Wife 181 

A Wine Strainer 72 Sandals, Boots, and Buskins 181 

Lying at Table 73 Head-Dresses 182 

A Cup-Bearer 74 A Bulla 182 

Corinthian Vase 75 The House of Mourning 183 

Jasper Vase 75 Lachrymal or Tear Vases 184 

Pitcher and Guttus . 75 Tablets and Styli 185 

A Crater 76 A Scrinium 185 

A Stamp 76 Drum, Lyre, Trumpet, Flute, and Cvmbal. . . 186 

Portable Fire-Place 76 Public Dancers 187 

The Aviary of Varro's Villa 78 



The sunny Corner , 188 The Reading-Room 193 

Randall's Bust 189 Basket-makmg 194 

"The Complaint" 189 Old Sailors fishing 196 

Admission of an old Sailor 190 Drawing Tobacco 195 

Plan of Sailors' Snug Harbor 192 The Bone Man 197 

One of the Sleeping-Rooms 192 


SEA AND SHORE Charles Nordhoff 704 


Section of the Atlantic in the Tropics 706 Different Positions of Cape Ferret 715 

Comparative Saltness of Seas 706 Formation of a Dune 716 

Icebergs of the Antarctic Ocean 708 Formation of Sand Dune 716 

Rollings of a Ship upon the Waves 708 Section of a Dune 716 

Average Heights of Waves 709 Calms during the Hurricanes at Reunion, . . 717 

Route of Steam-Packets 712 Spirals made by a Vessel 718 

Profile of a Tidal Wave 712 Cyclone in the Indian Ocean 718 

" Giants' Caldrons" of Haelstolmen 713 Parabola described by a Hurricane 719 

Section of the "Giants' Caldrons" 713 Whirlwinds of Dust 720 

Tidal Wells 713 Comparative Amounts of Rain-fall 720 

SBIPLETON, A Charles Beade 98, 258, 418, 577, 741, 897 

SONG OF THE PALM Ti-acy Hobinson 346 

SONNET PaulH.Hayne 197 

SUB ROSA Bose Ten^y 375 

THREADS OF SONG Miss Josephine Bollard 494 

"TILL DEATH" Mrs. J. G. Burnett 668 


TRAMP, MY Anna M. Hoyt 562 



VIENNA M.D. Conway 831 


Schonbrnqn— the Palace Gardens 831 Exhibition Building 839 

Schonbrunn— another View 832 La Gloriette, at Schiinbrunn 841 

Palace of the Vienna Exposition 833 New Stadt Theatre, Vienna 843 

Interior of Exhibition Hall 835 Friiulein Stadelmeyer 845 

Diagram of the Exposition 837 

VISION, A— No. 289 Mrs. F)-anlc M'Carthy 210 

VOICE AND FACE Ellis Gray 763 

WAIF AND ESTRAY, A D.B. Castleton 407 

WALKING BOY, THE Clara F. Guernsey 275 

WIERTZ, ANTOINE Wirt Sikes 823 


The Man of the Future, etc 823 The last Cannon 828 

The Greeks and Trojans contending, etc 825 The Orphans 829 

WOMAN, AN EASTERN, THE LIFE OF (Illustrated) Edwin De Leon 364 





WHEN, six centuries ago, Marco Polo, the 
medieval Herodotus, recited the won- 
derful history of his travels at Venice, as his 
great prototype had done before him at Ath- 
ens, his countrymen, regarding his extrava- 
gant stories as so many romantic fables or 
Munchausen -like marvels, conferred upon 
him the sobriquet of "Messer Marco Millioni 
and long after his death it is related that at 
the Venetian masks one of the characters 

• The Book of Ser Marco Polo the Venetian. New- 
ly translated and edited, with notes, by Colonel IIknry 
Yule, C.B. 2 volumes, London : John Murray, 1871. 

personated was Mark Million, who amused 
and delighted the crowd with his singular 
adventures and marvelous stories. When, 
however, on his death-bed, his friends be- 
sought him to retract and revise his bof)k 
in accordance with the facts, tlie dying 
traveler replied that he had not told the 
hy,lf of what he had really and truly seen. 

In the light of modern research and ex- 
ploration, illustratcid and exi)lained by Ori- 
ental literature and travel, what at one time 
was regarded as sim])ly the effervesc(^nce of 
a fertile fancy has gradually crystallized, for 
the most part, into the sober facts of gcogra- 

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 187'2, by Harper and Brothers, in the Ofllce of the Libra- 
rian of Concrress, at Washington. 
Vol. XLVL— No. 271. — 1 




phy and history, marred, no doubt, by some 
chronological errors and distorted geograph- 
ical names — attributable iu the main to oral 
dictation and subsequent transcription — 
with here and there an intermixture of fable 
when he describes from hearsay, and of hy- 
perbole Avlien he narrates the results of his 
own observation. Still there is a vast in- 
terval on the score of veracity between the 
Venetian traveler and Sir John Mandeville, 
his English contemporary. 

Though we are not indebted to Polo for 
our earliest information respecting China 
and Central Asia, since, to say nothing of the 
ancients, during the Middh^ Ages Carpini 
and Rubruquis, the Minorite friars, had both 
preceded him, still he stands deservedly at 

the head of medieval travelers, and doubt- 
less contributed more than any other to the 
advancement of geographical science and 
our knowledge of Central and Eastern Asia. 
Nearly six centuries have elapsed with their 
imposing array of celebrated travelers, but 
none have arisen to dispute with the illus- 
trious Venetian the palm of being the great- 
est explorer of the continent of Asia. 

The Book of Marco Polo, with the flavor 
of so many centuries upon its pages, loses 
little of its interest or popularity. With 
chapters that read like a passage out of the 
''Thousand and One Nights," it proposes 
perplexing puzzles of nomenclature that 
might satisfy the most ambitious commen- 
tator, and suggests problems which are 



alike interesting to the antiquarian and 
scholar, the merchant, politician, and moral 
reformer. Fifty-seven editions have not 
sufficed to satisfy the popular demand, and 
now Colonel Yule presents us with a work 
of two portly volumes, running through 
nearly a thousand pages, which, with its 
rich variety of curious and recondite lore — 
geographical, historical, linguistic, and liter- 
ary — its fullness of criticism, its profusion 
of pictorial illustration, and prodigality of 
learned annotation, enriching if not encum- 
hering the text, constitutes a perfect the- 
saurus of profound erudition and laborious 
research. To the completion of his Hercu- 
lean task Colonel Yule has brought a fine 
classical taste, a ripe scholarship, a critical 
acumen, besides a thorough acquaintance 
with Eastern manners and customs, as well 
as medieval geography, which, illustrated 
and interpreted from his rich stores of 
knowledge, with untiring assiduity and an 
exhaustive labor, have constituted the pub- 
lication of his work an epoch in Oriental re- 
search and geographical science. With this 
passing tribute to the scholarly editor, who 
most of all deserves the thanks of all lovers 
of the quaint and fanciful in medieval lit- 
erature, we proceed to give such an account 
as we may, within the narrow limits of a 
magazine article, of Marco Polo and his 

Without attempting, with some antiqua- 
rians, to trace the origin of the Polo family 
to the legendary Lucius Polus, one of the 
companions of Prince Antenor of Troy, we 
will simply state that the ascertained gene- 
alogy of Marco Polo begins with his grand- 
father, Andrea Polo, a noble of the parish of 
San Felice, in Venice, whose family consist- 
ed of three sons — Marco, Nicolo, and Maffeo. 
Of these, Nicolo was the father of Marco, the 
great traveler. The three brothers were en- 
gaged in commerce, and constituted a part- 


nership, transact- 
ing business and 
residing for the 
most part in Con- 
stantinople and the 
Crimea. In 1260 
we find Nicolo and 
Maffeo Polo on 
a business tour, 
which for various 
reasons was ulti- 
mately extended as 
far as Bokhara, and 
thence to the court of the Great Khan Kublai, 
at Shangtu, fifty miles to the north of the 
Great Wall of China, and best known to the 
English reader as the Tanadu of Coleridge's 
brilliant little " opium-inspired" poem, 

" Where twice five miles of fertile ground 
With walls and towers were girdled round." 

This powerful prince received the itinerant 
merchants not only with favor, but distinc- 
tion, and lent an eager ear to their descrip- 
tion of the Western or Latin world, of its 
kings and emperors, and most of all of his 
holiness the pope. He subsequently dis- 
patched them with one of his barons on an 
embassy to the latter, with a request that he 
would send him a hundred missionaries and 
teachers, " intelligent men, acquainted with 
the seven arts," conceiving, though a Bud- 
dhist, that the Christian religion was just 
what was needed to soften and civilize his 
rude, barbarian subjects of the steppes. In 
truth, at the time when the Polos first visit- 
ed the court of the Great Khan, though 
throughout all Asia, as Colonel Yule ob- 
serves, scarcely a dog might bark without 
Mongol leave, the Tartar hordes were already 
becoming an object of hope rather than fear, 
as a possible breakwater against the inroads 
of Mohammedanism. 

The emperor, after providing his embassa- 





dors with every thing ueedful in the way of 
an escort of men and horses, delivered to 
them a tablet of gold, inscribed upon which 
was tlie prince's order to furnish for their 
use "every thing required in all the coun- 
tries through which they should pass," at 
the same time charging them " to bring 
back to him some oil of the lamp which 
burns on the sepulchre of our Lord at Jeru- 
salem." The envoys accordingly set out 
with the Tartar baron, but before they had 
proceeded far the latter fell sick, and was 
reluctantly left behind. When in 1269 they 
had arrived as far as Acre they received in- 
telligence of the death of Pope Clement IV., 
and that his successor had not yet been 
elected. Acting upon the advice of Theo- 
bald of Piacenza, the pope's legate residing 
at Acre, they resolved, " while the pope was 
a-makiug," on visiting their native town of 
Venice, and there await a new election. 
Here Nicolo learns the death of his wife, but 
finds instead his son Marco, now grown to 
be a fine lad of fifteen, " and this Marco is 
he of whom the book tells." 

The papal interregnum was the longest on 
record, at least since the Dark Ages. Two 
years had elapsed, and yet was the throne 
of St. Peter vacant. The brothers Polo, 
when they saw that "never a pope was 
made," unwilling to be suspected of bad 
faith by Kublai-Khan, resolved to return to 
his court. They accordingly set out, accom- 
panied by young Marco, and passing through 
Acre, where they obtained some of the oil 
of the Holy Sepulchre, had already reached 
the port of Ayas on the Gulf of Scanderoon, 
when the news of the final election of a 
pope overtook them, and that the choice of 
the sacred college had fallen upon their old 
friend the Archdeacon Theobald, who had 
now become Gregory X. They returned at 
once to Acre, and made their humble obei- 
sance to the new pontifi"; but instead of the 
hundred missionaries and teachers, received 
two Dominican friars, and the papal bene- 
diction, as an equivalent, it may be, for the 
other ninety-eight. With these and the 
holy oil, together with letters and presents 
from the pope to the Great Khan, they again 
proceeded to Ayas, where they learned that 
the famous Mameluke Sultan Bibars with 
an invading host of Saracens lay directly 
across their proposed route of travel. The 
good Dominicans, who, it appears, did not 
covet martyrdom, esteeming " discretion the 
better part of valor," surrendered their cre- 
dentials to the Polos, and returned inconti- 
nently to Acre. The two brothers, with 
Marco, however, proceeded on their way by 
a different route, reaching the court of Ku- 
blai after an overland trip of tliree years 
and a lialf. This was probjibly in 1275. 
The adventurous Venetians received a most 
cordial welcome from the Groat Khan, who 
at once took kindly to young Marco, by this 

time a joenne hachelcr, as the text calls him, 
of about one-aud-twenty. 

The " young bachelor" grew rapidly in 
favor at court, addressing himself meanwhile 
to the study of the native languages, and 
acquiring no less than four " sundry written 
characters," probably Mongolian, Uighur, 
Persian, and Thibetan. The emperor, seeing 
his discretion and ability, soon began to em- 
ploy him in the public service, not only in 
domestic administration, probably as com- 
missioner or agent attached to the Privy 
Council, but also on distant embassies. His 
first mission, as he himself relates, was to 
the province of Yunnan, a wild and remote 
district to the east of Thibet, and now as then 
a vast ethnological terra incognita. While at 
court Polo had not failed to observe the 
keen relish with which Kublai listened to 
accounts of foreign travel, especially the 
strange customs, manners, and peculiarities 
of foreign countries, and his undisguised 
contempt for the stupidity of his envoys, 
who, on returning from abroad, could tell 
him nothing " except the business on which 
they had gone." Profiting by these obser- 
vations, he took care to store his memory 
with curious facts and amusing incidents, 
and on his return to court he did not fail to 
give an account of all the "novelties and 
strange things which he had seen and heard," 
to the great amusement and delight of the 
emperor. He subsequently held for three 
years the government of the great city of 
Yaugchau, or, according to some authorities, 
the viceroyalty of one of the imperial prov- 
inces. At one time we hear of him at Tan- 
gut, and then at Karakorum, the old Mongo- 
lian capital of the khans ; now on a mission 
in Cochin China, and soon after on an expe- 
dition to the Indian seas. On these and all 
other occasions Polo, it appears, acquitted 
himself with great credit, recommending 
himself more and more to the favor of his 
imperial master, who treated him with such 
marked distinction that some of his " barons 
waxed very envious thereat." 

Thus did the Venetians continue in the 
Great Khan's service for eleven years, Marco 
acquiring fame, his father and uncle fortune. 
The latter, fearing what might become of 
their "great wealth in jewels and gold," in 
the event of Kublai's death, who was now 
past fourscore, "longed to carry their gear 
and their own gray heads" safe home again 
to the Venetian lagoons. But Kublai-Khan 
had become so strongly attached to the clever 
and amiable foreigners that, like King Theo- 
dore of more recent memory, he absolutely 
refused to let them go. 

It so happened, however, that the wife of 
Arghun, Khan of Persia, and Kublai's grand- 
nephew, died, with the dying injunction that 
her place should be supplied by one of her 
own kin of the Mongol tribe of Bayaut. An 
embassy, consisting of three barons, was ac- 



cordingly dispatched 
by Arghim to that 
distant country to 
procure such a bride^ 
to be selected by Ku- 
blai. The emperor 
received the embas- 
sadors with distin- 
guished considera- 
tion, and elected the 
Lady Kukachin, a 
maiden of seventeen 

moult hele dame 
avenant" of the family 
of the deceased Queen 
Bolgona. The over- 
land route being im- 
periled by war, in ad- 
dition to its weari- 
some length, the bar- 
ons decided to pro- 
ceed home with their 
tender and beautiful 
by sea, and 



as a favor 
from Kublai that the 
three Venetians, on 
account of their great 
knowledge and exj)e- 
rience of the Indian 
Sea and the countries 
through which they 
must pass, might ac- 
company them. This 
request the emperor 

granted Avith great reluctance, but having 
done so, fitted them out right royally for the 
voyage, at the same time charging the Polos 
with friendly greetings to the various poten- 
tates of Christendom Their departure took 
place, with thirteen four-masted ships, in the 
early part of 1292. After a long and weari- 
some voyage, involving protracted deten- 
tions, to which, however, we are indebted for 
some of the most interesting chapters in the 
book, they at length arrived at their desti- 
nation. The three Venetians with their fair 
charge, who seems to have entertained for 
them a filial regard, survived the hardships 
of the voyage, but two of the three envoys 
and the larger part of their numerous suit, 
" in number some six hundred persons, with- 
out counting the mariners," had perished by 
the way. Meanwhile Arghun, Kukachin's 
intended husband, had died also, so that his 
son Ghazan succeeded to the lady's hand. 
The Venetians, as soon as their mission was 
accomplished, took leave of their royal host, 
Avho provided them with a princely escort, 
while the beautiful Kukachin, " who looked 
on each of those three as a father, w(ipt for 
soiTow at the parting." After a lengthy 
sojourn at Tabriz they proceeded homeward, 
reaching Venice, according to Polo's state- 
ment, " in the year 1295 of Christ's Incarna- 


Eamusio relates that on the return of the 
Polos to their native city the same fate be- 
fell them as befell Ulysses, who, on his re- 
turn to his native Ithaca, after his twenty 
years' wanderings, was recognized by no- 
body. Decidedly changed in aspect, with a 
" certain indescribable smack of the Tartar 
both in air and accent," their own vernacu- 
lar well-nigh forgotten, their clothes of a 
Tartar cut, travel - stained, shabby, and 
coarse, they with difficulty gained admit- 
tance into their own house, now occupied by 
their relatives, who had long since given 
them up as dead. To dispel all doubts re- 
specting their personal identity they invited 
their kinsfolk to a splendid entertainment, 
and when the hour arrived for sitting down 
to tal)le, they all three appeared dressed in 
robes of crimson satin, and afterwjird at in- 
tervals during the entertainment tliese Avero 
exchanged first for suits of crimson danuisk, 
then for robes of crimson velvet, and tli(;n for 
costumes similar to those of the r(!st of the 
company. Each of these costly suits, as it 
was exchanged for another, was l»y their or- 
ders first cut to pieces and afterward divided 
among tlie servants. The wonder and amaze- 
ment of the guests, however, readied its 
climax when, after tin; removal of tlie c]oih, 
Marco rising from tlic table and bringing 
out from an adjoining chamber the three 



coarse and shabby dresses they had worn 
upon their first arrival, the three Polos set 
to work with sharp knives ripping up the 
welts and seams, wlien vast numbers of the 
finest and largest diamonds, emeralds, ru- 
bies, sapphires, and carbuncles fell like a 
shower upon the table. 

"With such golden premises the conclusion 
was irresistible. There could no longer be 
any possible doubt as to their personal iden- 
tity. All Venice, " gentle and simple," flocked 
to see and embrace them. An office of great 
dignity was conferred upon Messer Malfeo, 
the eldest, while the young men, who came 
daily to visit the "polite and gracious'' Messer 
Marco, never tired in listening to his recital 
of the wonders of Cathay and the splendors 
of the court of the Great Khan. As Polo in 
his relation frequently made use of the term 
millions, they nicknamed him "Messer Marco 
Millioni," and the court in which he resided 
the " Corte del Millioni." 

Another version of the same tradition re- 
lates " that the wife of one of them gave 
away to a beggar that came to the door one 
of those garments of his, all torn, patched, 
and dirty as it was. The next day he asked 
his wife for that mantle of his, in order to 
put away the jewels that were sewn up in 
it, but she told him she had given it away to 
a poor man whom she did not know. Now 
the stratagem he employed to recover it was 
this. He went to the bridge of Rialto, and 
stood there turning a wheel, to no apparent 
purpose, but as if he were a madman, and to 
all those who crowded around to see what 
prank was this, and asked him why he did 
it, he answered, ^ He'll come, if God pleases.' 
So after two or three days he recoguized his 
old coat on the back of one of those who 
came to stare at his mad proceeding, and got 
it back again." 

Shortly after his retuni to his native city 
the Venetians fitted out a naval expedition, 
commanded by Andrea Dandolo, against the 
Genoese under Lamba Doria, and Polo was 
placed in command of one of the Venetian 
galleys. The rival fleets encouutered each 
other at Curzola (1298), not far from Lissa 
of more recent fame, when the Venetians 
were completely beaten, and Polo, with Dan- 
dolo and seven thousand others, made pris- 
oner, and sent in irons to Genoa. Here in 
his dungeon he dictated the story of his trav- 
els and adventures to a fellow-prisoner, Rus- 
ticiano, or Rustichello, of Pisa, a name not 
unknown to literature as a compiler of 
French romances, who committed it to writ- 
ing. And thus are we probably indebted to 
Polo's captivity for our account of the trav- 
eler's adventurous story. 

Of the personal history of Polo during the 
quarter of a century he survived subsequent 
to his release from his Genoese prison in 
1299 we know comparatively little. We 
gather from his last will and testament, 

which was executed in 1324, that he left a 
wife and three daughters, Fautina, Bellela, 
and Morela, whom he constituted his trust- 
ees. One of the provisions of the will runs 
thus : " I release Peter the Tartar, my serv- 
ant, from all bondage as completely as I pray 
God to release my own soul from all sin and 
I guilt." He furthermore enjoins that " if 
any one shall presume to violate this will, 
may he incur the malediction of God Al- 
mighty, and abide bound under the anathe- 
ma of the three hundi'ed and eighteen Fa- 
thers." He probably died within a year 
after the execution of his will, and was 
buried, according to his own request, in the 
Church of San Lorenzo, which having been 
rebuilt in 1592, all traces of the illustrious 
traveler's tomb have unfortunately disap- 

Polo's " Travels" consists of a prologue and 
four books. In the former, after recom- 
mending its perusal to the "great princes, 
emperors and kings, dukes and marquises, 
counts, knights, and burgesses, and people 
of all degrees who desire to get knowledge 
of the various races of mankind, and of the 
diversities of the sundry regions of the 
world," he proceeds to give a brief and in- 
teresting account, as already substantially 
related, of the two journeys of the Polos to 
the court of the Great Khan, of their lengthy 
sojourn in Cathay, or China, and their subse- 
quent return to their native city by the way 
of Persia and the Indian seas. The latter 
embraces a series of chapters descriptive of 
the curious manners, notable sights, and re- 
' markable events, together with the com- 
I merce and staple agricultural products of 
j the various provinces of Asia, relating more 
; especially, however, to the court of the Great 
Khan Kublai, his wealth and power, wars 
and administration. The greater part of 
the fourth book, which in a verbose and mo- 
notonous manner describes the wars between 
the various branches of the house of Chin- 
ghiz. Colonel Yule has judiciously omitted 
j from his edition on account of its endless 
repetitions, so that in his hands Polo's book, 
like the Yunnan horses of which he tells us, 
is presented to us " docked of some joints of 
the tail." 

There has been no little controversy as 
to the language in which Polo's book was 
originally written. Some authorities have 
assumed that it was Latin ; others, with 
more plausibility, have held that it was 
Venetian ; but it would appear now to bo 
definitely settled that the original was 

I French, not, indeed, the " French of Paris," 
but just such French as we might expect in 
the thirteenth century from a Tuscan aman- 
uensis following the oral dictation of an 

. Orientalized Venetian. 

Setting out from Acre in 1271, the route 

j of the Polos lay through Armenia and 
Georgia, where " in old times the kings 



' 1? k ll ' ^^''f p ! 

I ii )\]r 'm > 
























were born witli tlio ligure of an eagle upon 
tlie right shoulder," and where, near the 
convent of nuns called St. Leonard's, " there 
is a great lake at the foot of a mountain, 
and in this lake are found no fish, great or 

small, throughout tlic yenr till Lent come, 
when the finest fish in tlie world ;ire found 
in great abundance, and that until Piaster- 
eve. 'Tis really a passing groat miracle." 
This great miracle, however, has since re- 



Bolved itself into a uatural pheiiomeuou, 
and is found to be very intimately asso- 
ciated with the melting of the snows at the 
season of Lent ui)on the summits of the 

Proceeding through Ayas and Sivas, Mar- 
din and Mosul, and thence to Baudas, or 
Bagdad, Polo tells us how the prayer of a 
" one-eyed cobbler caused the mountain to 
move ;" and how Alau, the Lord of the Tar- 
tars of the Levant, took the city of Bau- 
das by storm, and shut up its caliph in his 
Treasure Tower, giving him nothing to eat 
or drink except his silver and gold ; or, as 
Longfellow sings : 

" I said to the Kalif : Thou art old; 
Thou hast no need of so much gold. 
Thou shouldst not have heaped and hidden it here 
Till the breath of Battle was hot and near, 
But have sown through the land these useless hoards, 
To spring into shining blades of swords, 
And keep thine honor sweet and clear. 


" Then into his dungeon I locked the drone, 
And left him there to feed all alone 
In the honey-cells of his golden hive : 
Never a prayer nor a cry nor a groan 
Was heard from those massive walls of stone, 
Nor again was the Kalif seen alive." 

In speaking of the city of Saba, in Persia, 
whence the Magi set out for Jerusalem with 
their costly gifts for the infant Saviour, he re- 
lates a curious tradition current among the 
Fire-Worshipers: "They relate that in old 
times three Kings of that country went away 
to worship a Prophet that was born, and they 

carried with them three manner of otferings. 
Gold and Frankincense and Myrrh, in order 
to ascertain whether that Prophet were God, 
or an earthly King, or a Physician. For, 
said they, if he take the Gold, then he is an 
earthly King ; if he take the Incense, he is 
God ; if he take the Myrrh, he is a Physi- 
cian When they presented their offerings 

the Child accepted all three, and when they 
saw that, they said within themselves that 
He was the True God and the True King and 
the True Physician." 

On the route from Baudas through Ker- 
man to Hormuz, Polo takes occasion to speak 
with enthusiasm of the large, snow-white, 
hump - shouldered oxen, that "when they 
have to be loaded kneel like the camel," 
and of sheep " as big as asses," with tails 
" so large and fat that one tail shall weigh 
some thirty pounds." From Hormuz it is 
quite probable that the travelers intended 
to embark for India, but were deterred from 
so doing by the unpromising character of 
the ships that frequented that port, which 
were, without doubt, " wretched affairs." 
For, having no iron to make nails of, " they 
stitch the planks with twine made from the 
bark of the Indian nut." They accordingly 
retraced their steps to Kerman, and from 
thence proceeded in a northerly direction 
through Cobinan to the province of Tono- 
cain, where " is found the Arhre Sol, which 
we Christians call the Arhre Sec" and where 
"the people of the country tell you was 





fouarht the battle be- 
tween Alexander aud 
King Darius." 

Polo has here, with- 
out doubt, confounded 
the Arh-e Sol of Alex- 
andrian romance with 
the Arhre Sec of Chris- 
tian legend. The for- 
mer plays an important 
part in the legendary 
cyclus of Alexandrian 
fable, as the oracular 
Tree of the Sun that 
foretold Alexander's 
death. The latter cor- 
responds most probably 
with the legendary oak 
of Abraham at Hebron, 
of which Sir John Man- 
deville quaintly says : 
" Theye seye that it 
hathe ben there sithe 
the beginnynge of the 
World ; and was sum- 
tyme grene and bare 
Leves, unto the Tyrae 
that Oure Lord dyede 
on the Cros ; and thanne 
it dryede." Colonel 
Yule is of the oi)inion 
that the Arhre Sec of 
Polo was some venerable specimen of the 
chinar or Oriental plane in the vicinity of 
Bostam or Damghan, and relates a num- 
ber of instances in which such trees, either 
from age, position, or accident, were invest- 
ed with a sacred character, and hung with 
amulets and votive offerings by devout pil- 
grims, who held them in superstitious ven- 

Several chapters are devoted by Polo to 
the Old Man of the Mountain, Aloadin of 
Mulehet, who transformed a certain valley 
into an eartlily paradise of the Mohammed- 
an type, into which he introduced youths of 
from twelve to twenty years of age, after 
administering to them a sleeping potion of 
wondrous potency, sc that when they awoke 
" they deemed it was Paradise in very truth." 
These youths were called Ashishin ; " for 
when the Old Man would have any prince 
slain or enemy murdered, he would cause 
that potion to be given to one of their num- 
ber in the garden, and then had him carried 
into his castle. And when the young man 
awoke he would say, ' Go thou and slay so 
and so, and when thou returnest my angels 
shall bear thee into Paradise and so it was 
that there Avas no order of his that they 
would not affront any i)eril to execute, for 
tlie great desire they had to get back into 
that Paradise of his." According to De 
Sacy, these youths were called JlaHhiahin, 
from their use of the j)reparation of liemp 
called hashish, and thence through their 


system of murder and terrorism came the 
modern application of the word assassin. 

From Mulehet, or Alamut, the reader is 
transported to Sepourgan, and thence to 
(Bale) Balkh, a "noble city and a great," 
whose inhabitants " tell that it was hero 
that Alexander took to wife the daught-er 
of Darius." Thence by Talikan, Casern or 
Kishm, through the province of Badakshan, 
" where the Balas rubies and azure are 
found," to the celebrated i)lateau of Pamier, 
^' said to be the highest place in the world," 
and midway between heaven aud earth ; or, 
to use a native expression, the Bilm-i-Duniah, 
or "Roof of the World," and jtossibly the site 
of the jirimeval Arian paradise. Polo here 
takes occasion to speak of the fine pastur- 
age, " where a lean beast will fatten to your 
heart's content in ten days," and of " -wild 
sheep of great size, whose horns are good 
six palms in length." A i)air of horns fr(im 
one of these sheep, which have received the 
name of Oris poU in honor of the great trav- 
eler, sent by Wood to the Royal Asiatic So- 
ciety, measured four feet eight inches on 
the curve, and one foot two and a quarter 
inches at the base. 

Descending the Pamier steppe the Polos 
proceeded to Kashgar, thence to Yarkand, 
Khotan, Lake Lop, and the Great Desert, 
where the traveler wlio chanccH to lag be- 
hind his party "will hear si>irits taikijig, 
and will sni)i)ose them to be his coniradrs. 
Sometimes tlie spirits will call him by 




name ; and tlms shall a traveler ofttimes be 
led astray, so that he never finds his x^arty. 

And in this way many have perished 

And sometimes you shall hear the sound of 
a variety of musical instruments, and still 
more commonly the sound of drums." Hwen 
Thsang, in his passage of the same desert, 
siieaks of " visions of troops marching and 
halting, with gleaming arms and waving 
banners, constantly shifting, vanishing, and 


Marco Polo and Colonel Ynle furnish us 
here and elsewhere with phenomena that 
would appear to embrace, if not transcend, 
the whole encyclopedia of modem spirit- 
ualism. When, for example, the Great 
Khan, "seated upon a platform some eight 
cubits above the pavement, desires to drink, 
cups filled with wine are moved from a buf- 
fet in the centre of the hall, a distance of 
ten paces, and present themselves to the 
emperor witliout being touched by any 
body." The feats ascribed in ancient le- 
gends to Simon Magus, such as tlie moving 
of cups and other vessels, making statues 
to walk, causing closed doors to fiy open 
spontaneously, were by no means unusual 
among the Bacsi, or Thibetan priests, whose 
performances, if we are to believe oui' trav- 

eler, might well ex- 
cite the envy of 
modern spiritual 
mediums. Produ- 
cing figures of their 
divinities in empty 
space ; making a 
pencil to write an- 
swers to questions 
without any body 
touching it ; sitting 
upon nothing; fly- 
ing through the air, 
penetrating every 
where as if imma- 
terial ; conjuring up 
mist, fog, snow, and 
rain, by which bat- 
tles were lost or 
won ; preventing 
clouds and storms 
from passing over 
the emjjeror's pal- 
ace ; reading the 
most secret human 
thoughts, foretell- 
ing future events, 
and even raising the 
dead — these and 
many other won- 
derful feats could 
be performed by 
means of the Dhd- 
rani, or mvstical In- 
dian charms. 

In this connec- 
tion Colonel Yule 
furnishes us with some examples of Chinese 
jugglery really so extraordinary that we can 
not forbear quoting a single extract. 

Ibn Batuta, the Arabian, whose marvel- 
ous account has been more recently corrob- 
ortlted by Edward Melton, the Anglo-Dutch 
traveler, relates that when present at a great 
entertainment at the court of the Viceroy 
of Khansa (Kin say of Polo, or Hangchau- 
fu), "a juggler, who was one of the khan's 
slaves, made his appearance, and the amir 
said to him, ' Come and show us some of 
your marvels.' Upon this he took a wooden 
ball with several holes in it, through which 
long thongs were passed, and, laying hold 
of one of these, slung it into the air. It 
went so high that we lost sight of it alto- 
gether. (It was the hottest season of the 
year, and we were outside in the middle of 
the palace court.) There now remained 
only a little of the end of a thong in the 
conjurer's hand, and he desired one of the 
boys who assisted him to lay hold of it and 
mount. He did so, climbing by the thong, 
and wo lost sight of him also ! The conjur- 
er then called to him tlu'ee times, but get- 
ting no answer, he snatched up a knife, as 
if in a great rage, laid hold of the thong, 
and disappeared also ! By-and-by he threw 



down oue of the boy's hands, then a foot, 
then the other hand, and then the other foot, 
then the trunk, and, last of all, the head ! 
Then he came down himself, all puffing and 
panting, and with his clothes all bloody, 
kissed the ground before the amir, and said 
something to him in Chinese. The amir 
gave some order in reply, and our friend 
then took the lad's limbs, laid them togeth- 
er in their places, and gave a kick, -when, 
presto ! there was the boy, who got up and 
stood before us ! All this astonished me be- 
yond measure, and I had an attack of palpi- 
tation like that which overcame me once 
before in the presence of the Sultan of In- 
dia, when he showed me something of the 
same kind. Tlfey gave me a cordial, how- 
ever, which cured the attack. The Kazi 
Afkharuddin was next to me, and quoth he, 
' Wallah ! 'tis my ojiinion there has been 
neither going up nor coming down, neither 
marring nor mending ; 'tis all hocus-pocus !'" 
After thirty da^'S of wearisome travel 
through the great desert of Gobi the Polos 
traverse the province of Tangut until they 
reach Karakorum, and thence proceed to 
Tenduc, the capital of the famous Prester 
John — he, "in fact, about whose great do- 
minion all the world talks," but about whom 
the world really knows little or nothing at 
all. That such a prince existed in the far 
East, and that he was a great Christian 
conqueror, of enormous wealth and power, 
was universally believed in Europe during 
the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Sub- 
sequently the local habitation of the " Eoyal 
Presbyter" was transferred from the East 
to Abyssinia. In fact, more than one Asiatic 
potentate has played the shadowy role of 
this quasi-mythical personage. The origi- 
nal Prester John, first introduced to the 
Latin world by the Syrian Bishop of Gabala, 
was probably Gurkhan, the founder of a 
great empire in Asia during the twelfth cen- 
tury, known as Karfi-khitai, of whose pro- 
fession of Christianity, however, there is no 
trustworthy evidence. Another was Kush- 
luk, the Naiman Prince — the Prester John 
of Rubruquis — while the Prester John of 
Marco Polo was Unc-Klian, the chief of the 
Keraits, both contemporaries with Chiiighiz 
( Jenghis) Khan, who, " in the greatest bat- 
tle that ever was seen," overwhelmed tlie 
host of Prester John, conquered his king- 
dom, and became the founder of a new dy- 

Many, no doubt, will be surprised, in read- 
ing Polo's book, to observe the frequent in- 
dications it affords of the wi(lesi)read diffu- 
sion of Christianity in his day throughout 
Central and Eastern Asia. Without laying 
too much stress upon the reputed preaching 
of the Gospel and planting of churches by 
the apostles in Persia, India, and Cliina, 
though there is good reason to ]>elieve that 
St. Thomas, whose body, according to Polo, 

lies buried near Madras, preached the Gos- 
pel in the far East, stiU it is quite certain 
I that Christianity at an early day was dis- 
seminated quite generally throughout Asia 
and the islands of the Indian Ocean. At a 
very early period there were Christian bish- 
ops at Susa and Persepolis, at Herat, Samar- 
cand, and in Seistan, while the Catalan map 
bears witness to the existence of an Arme- 
nian monastery near Lake Issi-kul, to the 
north of Kashgar. Christianity was intro- 
duced into China in the early part of the 
seventh century, about the same time as 
Mohammedanism, or immediately after the 
era of the Hegira. In fact, during this and 
the succeeding centuries there were flour- 
ishing Christian churches in every consid- 
erable city of Central Asia as far east as 
Yarkand and Kashgar, with a "chain of 
bishops and metropolitans from Jerusalem 
to Pekin." 

In Polo's time we find Christians not only 
all along his route of travel to the court of 
the Great Khan, but also on his return voy- 
age along the Coromandel Coast, in Abys- 
sinia, and esx^ecially in Socotra, an island of 
the Indian Sea. Nor were these simply mis- 
sionary outposts. Kashgar was the seat of 
a metropolitan see, and so was Socotra, 
traces of which remained as late as the sev- 
enteenth century. At Mosul we find Nesto- 
rian and Jacobite Christians, with a patri- 
arch at their head. According to Polo, this 
"patriarch, whom they call the jatolic, cre- 
ates archbishops and abbots and prelates 
of all other degrees, and sends them into 
every quarter, as to India, to Baudas, or to 
Cathay, just as the Pope of Rome does in 
the Latin countries." 

Though Polo preserves a most remarkable 
silence with regard to the Christians he must 
have met with at the court of the Great 
Khan, yet we learn from collateral testimony 
that they were quite numerous in Pekin, at 
that time the Mongol capital. The Alans, 
who were reckoned the best soldiers in the 
khan's army, some of whom held the highest 
rank at the Cambaluc court, were at least 
nominal Christians, and we find them in 
1336 dispatching an urgent request to Pojie 
Benedict XII. to nominate a successor to 
the deceased of Pekin, John of 
Monte Corvino. Rubruquis, the French friar, 
who was sent in 1253 by St. Louis on a mis- 
sion to Mangu-Khan, Kublai's elder brother, 
with a view of inducing him to espouse the 
declining fortunes of the Crusaders by at- 
tacking tlieir conmion foe, th(5 Saracen, from 
the eastward, found Nestorians and .Jaco- 
bites, Greeks and Armenians, all congregated 
at the Great Khan's court. It does not ap- 
pear, however, that the Mongol emperors, 
with possibly one or two exceptions, ever 
made an open profession of Ciiristianity, 
tiiough a number of tliem married Christian 
wives, and employed native Christians as 



4^ iifv ^:^\^ .>J 

■ \% ^.i^ iVF •v'^ ^ \^ 

^ -1^ .-K ^.^ M 4 '^'^ 

7^. 1 ^( ^ '^^i^ \^ 

^ T :^ ^< " v®:r:i|;#,.^->l^' 
-v^ H W ^ * ^ 

-,v ^ vfe t> .it -^^ i€ .(|, S. 'J^ , 

their ministers of state. Sigatai, an nncle 
of Knblai, appears to have embraced the 
Christian faith ; while Nazan, Knbhai's cousin 
and vassal, and ruler of a vast extent of ter- 
ritory, was a Christian prince who, like 
Charlemagne, emblazoned the cross upon 
his banner. Kublai, though nominally a 
Buddhist, was tolerant, if not indifferent to 
all creeds, whether Jewish, Christian, or 
Mohammedan, patronizing all and believing 
none, regarding religion as simply a civiliz- 
ing agent, and hence an important factor in 
any well-adjusted system of civil polity. His 
creed, according to Ramusio, appears to have 
been as folloAvs: "There are four prophets 
worshiped and revered by all the world. 
The Christians say their God is Jesus Christ ; 
the Saracens, Mohiinnned ; tlie Jews, Moses ; 
the Idolaters, Sogomon B(U'can, who was the 
first god .among the idols ; and I worship 
and pay re8X)ect to all four, and pray that 
he among them who is greatest in heaven 

in very truth may aid me." Had Kublai's 
requisition, however, for a hundred mission- 
aries, though dictated from motives of pub- 
lic i)olicy, been responded to by Pope Greg- 
ory — in view of the superiority at that time 
of the Latin monks to the degenerate Nesto- 
rian clergy in ability and culture, if not 
practical piety — it might have given a new 
and powerful impulse to Christian evangel- 
ization, which would have made Christianity 
at this day the dominant religion through- 
out the Orient. 

It is a melancholy fact, and one that sug- 
gests grave reflections to the Christian re- 
former, that scarcely a vestige now remains 
of the Christian church that once flourished 
so extensively throughout Central and East- 
ern Asia. The famous Singanfu inscription 
is the most remarkable, if not the only, re- 
maining memorial. This celebrated monu- 
ment, discovered in a suburb of Singanfu in 
1625, and still to be seen amidst the ruins of 
a temple outside the city walls, created no 
small stir among the savants of that day, and 
has by no means lost its melancholy interest 
in ours. The slab upon which it is engraved 
in Chinese and Syriac characters bears the 
date of A.D. 781, and appears to have been 
intended to commemorate the introduction 
of Christianity into China in 635. It con- 
tains a brief record of the rise and spread of 
the new religion for the next one hundred 
years, with a synopsis of Christian doctrine, 
in which, strange to say, there is no allusion 
whatever to the Crucifixion. Though its 
genuineness has been called in question by 
able critics, it would seem as if Pauthier, 
R^musat, and Colonel Yule had vindica- 
ted its authenticity beyond all reasonable 

As to the causes which led to the deca- 
dence and final disappearance of Christianity 
in the East, it may be observed that the 
purity of Christian doctrine and practice 
appears to have become gradually' corrupted 
by its constant contact with idolatry; and 
finally, by ingrafting upon its ceremonial, 
from time to time, pagan rites and cercmo- 

j nies, it at length became merged into pagan- 
ism itself. Polo relates that in his time 

\ Christian priests practiced astrology with 

! a "kind of astrolabe," together with divina- 
tion by rods, the same as the priests of 
Buddha ; while in Abyssinia, he tells us, they 

I observed the double baptism of fire and wa- 
ter — the former by branding a mark upon 
the forehead and either cheek with a hot 
iron. Abulfeda, in speaking of the inhabit- 
ants of Socotra, says they were " Nestorian 
Christians and pirates." As late as the sev- 
enteenth century, while they entertained a 
blind idolatry for the cross, they practiced 
circumcision and sacrificed to the moon — a 
singular medley of Judaism, idolatry, and a 

Some of the most interesting chapters of 



Polo's book are de- 
voted to a descrip- 
tion of the various 
customs, inauner of 
life, etc., of the 
Tartars. " Their 
houses," he says, 
"are circular, and 
are made of wands 
covered with felts. 
These are carried 
along with them 
whithersoever they 
go. They also have 
wagons covered 
with black felt so 
efficaciously that 
no rain can get in. 
These are drawn 
by oxen and cam- 
els, and the women 
and children travel 
in them. They eat 
all kinds of flesh, 
including that of 
horses and dogs 
and Pharaoh's rats. 
Their drink is 
mare's milk." The 
account of Herod- 
otus, in speaking 
of the Scyths, 

agrees perfectly gross on the monument at singanfu (actual size.) 

with that of Polo ; 

while jEschylus, in "Prometheus Bound/' 
alludes to the 

" wandering Scyths who dwell 
In latticed huts high poised on easy wheels." 

Their wagons, he continues, are " some- 
times of enormous size." Rubruquis affirms 
that he measured one, and found the inter- 
val between the wheels to be twenty feet. 
" The axle was like a ship's mast, and twen- 
ty-two oxen were yoked to the wagon, eleven 

Then, too, what fierce and hardy warriors 
these Tartar horsemen must have been! 
Armed with bow and arrow, sword and 
mace, dressed in the skins of wild beasts, or 
incased in mail of buffalo hide, inured to 
hardship and incapable of fatigue, fleet as 
the wind and irresistible as the storm, with- 
out commissary or quartermaster, pontoons 
or baggage-trains, if need be riding on ten 
days running, spending the livelong night 
in the saddle, without lighting a tire or tak- 
ing a meal, these capital archers and superb 
horsemen, like the Parthian cavalry, were 
never so certain of victory as when appar- 
entlj' in full retreat. If in their advance a 
broad, d ;ep river was to be crossed, they 
tied their equipments to their horses' tails, 
seized them by the mane, and so swam over. 
If put upon short rations, they sustained 
themselves upon the blood of their horses, 

" opening a vein and letting the blood jet 
into their mouths," and then stanching it 
when they had satisfied their hunger and 
thirst. " But why," as our traveler is wont 
to say, " should we make a long story of it ?" 
A Chinese fugitive from Bokhara, who had 
tested the quality of Chinghiz's Tartar 
hordes, has unconsciously condensed a vol- 
ume into a single hexameter : 

" They came and they sapped, they fired and they 
slew, trussed up their loot and were gone." 

As germane to their burning paper money, 
clothing, armor, and houses, together with 
figures of slaves, horses, and camels, for the 
benefit and use of the disembodied spirits of 
their departed relatives. Polo relates the 
following even more singular custom as pre- 
vailing among the Tartars, though not pe- 
culiar to them. " If any man have a daugh- 
ter who dies before marriage, and another 
man have had a son also die before marriage, 
the parents of the two arrange a grand wed- 
ding between the d(;ad lad and lass. And 
marry them they do, making a regular con- 
tract! And when the contract papers are 
made out, they put th(;m in the fire, in order 
(as they will have it) that th(5 parti(;s in the 
other world may know the fart, and so look 
on each other as man and wifi;. Wliatever 
may be agreed on between the parties as 
dowry, those who have to pay it cause it to 



be painted on pieces of paper, and then put 
these in the fire, saying that in that way the 
dead person will get all the reiil articles in 
the other world." When an emperor dies 
they kill all his best horses, and put to the 
sword every person whom the funeral cor- 

t6ge may chance to meet on its way to the 
burial, believing "that all such as they slay 
in this manner do go to serve their lord in 
the other world. And I tell you as a certain 
truth that when Mongou-Kaan died, more 
than twenty thousand persons, who chanced 



to meet the body on its way, were slain in 
the manner I have told." 

Leaving Tenduc, and skirting along the 
Great Wall of China — though, singularly 
enough, Polo makes no mention of it, unless 
iuferentially when speaking of the country 
of " Gog and Magog" — the travelers, after 
three years and a half of wearisome travel, 
at length reach Kaifjing-fu, the summer 
court of the Great Khan. 

And what shall we say of Polo's hero, the 
Great Khan, which is by interpretation the 
"Great Lord of Lords?" Were it not for 
collateral testimony and our firm faith in 
the traveler's veracity, we should regard his 
Kublai as a more extravagant personage 
than Haroun-al-Raschid, who was a pauper 
prince in comparison. With eagles for fal- 
cons, and lynxes, leopards, and lions for hunt- 
ing-dogs, he could at any time improvise an 
army of 360,000 men from his falconers, beat- 
ers, and whippers-in. Polo, who had a keen 
relish for the " noble art," tells us that when 
the emperor went " a-fowling" he was carried 
upon four elephants in a fine chamber made 
of timber, lined inside with plates of beaten 
gold, and outside with lions' skins, attended 
by 20,000 huntsmen and 10,000 dogs, moving 
along abreast of one another, so that the 
whole line extended over a full day's jour- 
ney, and "no animal could escai)e them." 

Each of the four empresses of the " Son 
of Heaven" had a special com-t of her own, 
which, with damsels, eunuchs, pages, and 
other attendants, numl^ered ten thousand 
persons. Thirteen times a year the twelve 
thousand barons attached to his court were 
furnished out of his privy j^urse with a golden 
girdle, and a costly robe corresponding in 
color to the emperor's own, and "garnished 
with gems and pearls and other precious 
things in a very rich and costly manner." 
His stud of milk-white horses, to which were 
added by way of New-Year's presents a hun- 
dred thousand annually, would have eclipsed 
those of all the jmnces and potentates of 
Euroj)e taken together. On the occasion of 
the festival of the White Feast his five thou- 
sand elephants, "all covered with rich and 
gay housings of inlaid cloth," together with 
a great number of camels, each carrying two 
splendid coffers containing the emj)eror's 
gold and silver plate and other costly furni- 
ture, were exhibited to the wondering popu- 
lace. Then Kublai's charities were con- 
ducted upon a scale commensurate with his 
boundless wealth. Besides the five thousand 
astrologers whom he provided with " annual 
maintenance and clothing," thirty thousand 
loaves of bread, " hot from the baking," were 
by his orders distributed daily to the poor. 
Six thousand guests had their seats in the 
dining-hall of his palace, "the greatest that 
ever was," while those who served him at 
his meals had mouth and nose " muffled 
with fine napkins of silk and gold, so that 

no breath nor odor from their persons should 
taint the dish or the goblet j^resented to the 
lord. And when the emperor is going to 
drink, all the musical instruments, of which 
he has vast store of every kind, begin to 
play. And when he takes the cup, all the 
barons and the rest of the company drop on 
their knees and make the deepest obeisance 
before him, and then the emperor doth 
di-ink. But each time that he does so the 
whole ceremony is repeated." 

In a word, " if you were to put together," 
says Polo, " all the Christians in the world, 
with their emperors and their kings, the 
whole of these Christians — ay, and throw in 
the Saracens to boot — would not have such 
power or be able to do so much as this 
Kublai ;" while Wassiif, in his Persian history, 
is, if possible, even more extravagant than 
the Venetian traveler in exalting the Great 
Khan, assuring us that "one beam- of his 
glories, one fi-action of his great qualities, 
suffices to eclipse all that history tells of the 
CiBsars of Rome, of the Chosroes of Persia, 
of the Khagans of China, of the (Himyarite) 
Kails of Arabia, of the Tobbas of Yemen, 
and the Rajahs of India, of the monarchs of 
the houses of Sassan and Buya, and of the 
Seljukian Sultans." 

Very handsome, too, Kublai-Khan was said 
to be. If so, his portrait we have given as 
taken from a Chinese engraving fails to do 
him justice, unless we adopt as our ideal of 
beauty the Moorish standard, or the scale of 

According to Polo, Kublai must have been 
a famous financier. "He transformed the 
bark of the mulberry-tree into something 
resembling sheets of paper, and these into 
money, which cost him nothing at all, so 
that you might say he had the secret of al- 
chemy in perfection. And these pieces of 
jiaper he made to pass current universally, 
over all his kingdoms and provinces and 
territories, and whithersoever liis power and 
sovereignty extended. And nobody, how- 
ever important he thought himself, dared to 
refuse them on pain of death." One might 
be led to suppose, from Polo's glowing ac- 
count, that the process of creating value by 
legal enactment or imperial decree had be- 
come one of the " lost arts," did it not sub- 
se<j[uently transpire that the Great Khan's 
legal tender was only worth half its nominal 
value in silver, and that he was comi^elled 
to resort to partial repudiation when, on a 
subsequent reissue, one note was exchanged 
against jive of the previous series of equal 
nominal value. A similar depreciation of 
the currency occurred in 1309, notwithstand- 
ing a legal provision that the notes should 
be on a par with specie — a provision Avhicli, 
of course, it was beyond the power of any 
government to enforce, and only another 
illustration of the absurdity of attempt- 
ing to regulate monetary as well as other 




values \)j legislative enactment. KuLlai, 
however, is not entitled to tlie credit of 
inventing paper money, wliicb dates back at 
least to the beginning of the ninth century, 
though it is not altogether improbable that 
Marco Polo may have had something to do 
with its introduction into Persia, if not into 

It is remarkable that Polo, in speaking of 
Chinese bank-notes, which Avere stamped 
with movable blocks, should have failed to 
say auy thing in regard to the art of fjrint- 
ing, though his name has been associated, 
on doubtful authority, with its introduction 
into Europe. There appears to be a local 
tradition in Venice that Panlilo Castaldi, of 
Feltre, having seen several Chinese books, 
which Polo had brought from China, print- 
ed by means of wooden blocks, constructed 
movable wooden types, each type contain- 
ing a single letter, and with these printed a 
number of sheets, some of wliich are said to 
be preserved among the archives at Feltre 
to this day. It relates furthermore that 
John Fust (Faust) having passed some time 

with Castaldi in Italy, ac- 
quired his invention, and 
returning to Germany, de- 
veloped it into the art of 
printing. Though there is 
a strong probability that 
the art of printing was 
originally derived from the 
Chinese, still the Castal- 
dian legend, notwithstand- 
ing the statue erected to 
the memory of Castaldi as 
the inventor of that noble 
art, is to be accepted with 
no small degree of mental 

If, according to the teach- 
ing of the disciples of John 
Noyes, the milleunium is 
simply the extension and 
complete realization of 
theii' jjractices and prin- 
ciples throughout the 
earth, then Kublai-Khan 
and his contemporaries 
were much nearer the mil- 
lennium than we. Besides 
those " four ladies called 
empresses," he had also a 
great number of concu- 
bines. " You must know," 
says Polo, "that there is a 
tribe of Tartars called Un- 
grat, who are noted for 
their beaut,y. Now every 
year a hundred of the most 
beautiful maidens of this 
tribe are sent to the Great 
Khan, who commits them 
to the charge of certain 
elderly ladies dwelling in 
his palace. And these old ladies make the 
girls sleep with them, in order to ascertain 
if they have sweet breath (and do not snore), 
and are sound in all their limbs. Then such 
of them as are of approved beauty, and are 
good and sound in all respects, are appoint- 
ed to attend on the emperor by turns." In 
Tartary " any man may take a hundred 
wives an he so please, if he be able to keep 
them," while in Malabar " the man Avho has 
most wives is most thought of." 

In Tiu'kestan, our traveler relates, "if 
the husband of any woman go away upon 
a journey and remain away for more than 
twenty days, as soon as that time is past 
the woman may marry another man, and 
tlio husband also may then marry whom he 

But time would fail us to follow Polo in 
his journey in gs and descriptions — so far to 
the north that he leaves the North Star be- 
hind him, and thence so far to the south 
that the North Star is never to be seeu — to 
discourse of the siege of Saianfu, with its 
trebuchets or mangonels, shotted with stones 




of 300 pounds, or of the " most noble city of 

" Stretching like paradise through the breadth of 
heaven ;" 

to speak of salamanders resolving them- 
selves into asbestos, and pigmies into monk- 
eys, and turning out to be no pigmies or 
salamanders after all ; of trees producing 
flour and wine, or " toddy and sugar," and 
of cattle and horses that live upon fish, and 
" naught besides of kumiz, or fermented 
mare's milk, that " pearl of all beverages 
of ships with water-tight compartments; 
of pearl fisheries and shark charmers ; of the 
white eagles of Telingana, and how they are 
induced to seek diamonds in inaccessible 
valleys ; of the fabulous Gryphon, or Rukh, 
"so strong that it will seize an elephant in 
its talons and carry him high into the air," 
and whose flight is like the loud thunder ; of 
the Male and Female Islands, the former in- 
habited exclusively by men and the latter by 
women ; of Maabar, or the Coromandel Coast, 
%here there "is never a tailor," seeing that 
every body adopts the most primitive if not 
paradisiacal of costumes, and whose inhabit- 
ants paint their gods black and tlieir devils 
Avhite, and rub thnr black children with oil 
of sesame to make them still blacker ; or of 
the elixir of longevity, compounded of sul- 
phur and quicksilver, the father and mother 
respectively of metals : nor yet of the Patra 
of green porphyry, the "Holy Grail" of Bud- 
dhism, out of which Adam used to eat, and 
of such miraculous virtue " that if food for 
one man be put therein it shall become 
enough for five men." All this, and a great 
deal besides, most reluctantly we omit. 
Vol. XLVI.— No. 271.— 2 

We may be ex- 
cused, however, for 
allowing our au- 
thor to relate a 
ridiculous custom 
of the Zar-dandan, 
or Golden Teeth, 
known under the 
name of the cou- 
vaclc, which he does 
with the most im- 
perturbable grav- 
ity. "And when 
one of their wives 
has been delivered 
of a child, the in- 
fant is washed and 
swathed, and then 
the woman gets up 
and goes about her 
household alfairs, 
while the husband 
takes to bed with 
the child by his 
side, and so keeps 
his bed for forty 
days, and all the 
kith and kin come to visit him, and keep up 
a great festivity. They do this because, say 
they, the woman has had a hard bout of it, 
and 'tis but fair the man should have his 
share of suffering," This custom, notwith- 
standing its oddity, is by no means unique, 
but is said to have prevailed among the ab- 
origines of California and the West Indies; 
among the ancient Corsicans and Iberians 
of Northern Spain ; among some of the tribes 
of South America, West Africa, and the In- 
dian Archipelago, and in a modified form in 
Borneo, Kamtchatka, and Greenland. Butler 
plainly alludes to the custom in " Hudiljras," 
while Apollonius Ehodius, in si)eaking of the 
Tibareni of Pontus, tells us, 

"In the Tibarenian land, 
When some good woman bears her lord a babe, 
'Tis he is swathed and groaning put to bed; 
While she arises, tends his baths, and serves 
Nice possets for her husband iu the straw." 





^'This strange custom," observes Colonel 
Yule, "if it were unique, would look like a 
coarse practical joke ; but appearing as it 
does among so many diiferent races and in 
every quarter of the world, it must have its 
root somewhere deep in the psychology of 
the uncivilized man." 

Nor are we quite, reconciled to omit the 
following, on account of a certain spicy fla- 
vor of Darwinism there is in it : 

" Now you must know that in this king- 
dom of Lambri there are men with tails. 
These tails are of a palm in length, and have 
no hair on them. These people live in the 
mountains, and are a kind of wild men. 
Their tails are about the thickness of a 
dog's." Or this : 

"And I assure you all the men of this isl- 
and of Augamauain have heads like dogs, 
and teeth and eyes likewise ; in fact, in the 
face they are all just like big mastiff dogs!" 
In Comari there are " monkeys of such pecul- 
iar fashion that you would take tliem for men." 
Without going back to Ctesias or other cor- 
roborative testimony, we are informed in a 
note that Mr. St. John met with a trader in 
Borneo who had seen and felt the caudal ap- 
pendages of such a race inhabiting the north- 
east coast of that island. Tliis ap])ondnge 
was four inches long, and so inflexible that 
their proprietors were obliged to use per- 
forated seats. As to the canine-headed feat- 
ure, without citing other examples, we are 
reminded that the Cubans described the Car- 

ibs to Columbus as man-eaters with dogs' 
muzzles, while the old Danes had traditions 
of Cyno-cepliaJi in Finland. 

Of the man Marco Polo we know compar- 
atively little. We catch fugitive glimpses 
of him here and there in his " Travels," 
enough to excite without satisfying our cu- 
riosity. There is, in truth, no authentic por- 
trait of the illustrious Venetian, though there 
are traditional ones that resemble each oth- 
er, and doubtless approximate more or less 
to a likeness of the original. In the faint, 
shadowv semblance of the traveler as reflect- 
ed from his book there are dimly visible the 
lineaments of a plain, practical man, unlet- 
tered, but of more than ordinary natural 
ability, and well up iu Alexandrian romance; 
a shrewd observer, a clever politician, a keen 
sportsman, and a brave soldier ; by no means 
superior to the credulity and superstition of"^ 
his age, " with a deep wondering respect for 
saints of the ascetic pattern, even if pagans, 
but for his own ])art a keen appreciation of 
this world's pomps and vanities." 

But though he is strangely reticent re- 
specting himself, he becomes even garrulous 
when discoursing of what he has seen and 
heard, and notwithstanding our faith in the 
narrator's veracity, we can not at times quite 
repress a latent suspicion that he is describ- 
ing ore rotnndo, or indulging in a little live- 
ly fanfaronade, with an occasional of 
Ipindbad the Sailor or the mendacious Mun- 



He tells us, for example, of oxen as tall as 
elephants ; of pheasants and mastiifs as large 
respectively as peacocks and donkeys; of 
bats and boars as big as goshawks and buf- 
faloes ; of serpents with eyes " bigger than 
a loaf of bread of i)alaces with floors of 
solid gold two fingers in thickness ; of ru- 
bies a palm in length, and thick as a man's 
arm ; of rivers hot enough to boil eggs, and 
of bamboos that exxilode with a report that 
miffht be heard a distance of ten miles ! In 
more than one description of a battle he ro- 
mances in the following or a similar strain : 
" Now you might behold the arrows fly from 
this side and from that, so that the sky was 
canopied with them, and they fell like rain ! 
Now might you see knights and men-at- 
arms on this side and on that fall in num- 
bers from their horses, so that the soil was 
covered with their bodies ! From this side 
and from that rose such a cry from the 
wounded and the dying that God might 
have thundered and you would not have 
heard !" 

Some biographers, in instituting a com- 
parison between Polo and Columbus, have 
not hesitated to give the preference to the 
former. Ramusio, comparing the land jour- 
ney of the one with the sea-voyage of the 
other, not without some degree of plausiljil- 
ity, observes : " Consider only what a height 
of courage was needed to undertake and car- 
ry through so difficult an enterprise over a 
route of such desiderate length and hardship 
(requiring three years and a half for its com- 
pletion), whereon it was sometimes necessa- 
ry to carry food for the supply of man and 
beast not for days only, but for months to- 
gether. Columbus, on the other hand, go- 
ing by sea, readily carried with him all nec- 
essary provision, and after a voyage of some 
thirty or forty days was conveyed by the 
wind whither he desired to go." He then 
concludes with the statement that while 
" no one from Europe has dared to repeat the 
former, ships in countless numbers continue 
to retrace the voyage of the latter." Polo, 
no doubt, was the worthy precursor of Co- 
lumbus, whose imagination he fired with 
visions of the boundless wealth of the Orient, 
and who subsequently, in seeking a western 
passage to Asia, discovered America, though 
he died in the firm belief that he had reached 
the coast of Cathay. Still, we fail to find in 
the Venetian traveler the pronounced con- 
victions and noble purpose, the firm resolve 
and lofty genius, that have challenged for the 
Genoese admiral so conspicuous a place upon 
" Fame's eternal bead-roll." 

Nevertheless Marco Polo must be regard- 
ed as the " prince of medieval travelers," a 
proud position, which Colonel Yule has so 
ably vindicated for his hero in his eloquent 
peroration that we can not forl)ear, in clos- 
ing this inadequate sketch, from quoting it 
at length. " He was the first traveler to 

trace a route across the whole longitude of 
Asia, naming and describing kingdom after 
kingdom which he had seen with his own 
eyes ; the deserts of Persia, the flowering 
plateaux and wild gorges of Badaklislian, 
the jade-bearing rivers of Khotan, the Mon- 
golian steppes — cradle of the power that had 
so lately threatened to swallow up ChriwSten- 
dom — the new and brilliant court that had 
been established at Cambaluc; the first 
traveler to reveal China in all its wealth 
and vastness, its mighty rivers, its huge 
cities, its rich manufactures, its swarming 
population, the inconceivably vast fleets that 
quickened its seas and its inland waters ; to 
tell us of the nations on its borders, with 
all their eccentricities of manners and wor- 
ship ; of Thibet, with all its sordid devotees; 
of Burma, with its golden pagodas and their 
tinkling crowns ; of Laos, of Siam, of Cochin 
China, of Japan, the Eastern Thule, with its 
rosy pearls and golden-roofed palaces ; the 
first to si)eak of that museum of beauty and 
wonder still so imperfectly ransacked — the 
Indian Archipelago, source of those aromat- 
ics then so highly prized, and whose origin 
w^as so dark ; of Java, the pearl of islands; 
of Sumatra, with its many kings, its strange, 
costly products, and its cannibal races; of 
the naked savages of Nicobar and Andaman ; 
of Ceylon, the isle of gems, with its sacred 
mountain and the tomb of Adam ; of India 
the Great, not as a dream-land of Alexan- 
drian fables, but as a country seen and par- 
tially explored, with its virtuous Brahmans, 
its obscene ascetics, its diamonds and the 
strange tales of their acquisition, its sea- 
beds of pearl, and its powerful sun ; the first 
in medieval times to give any distinct ac- 
count of the secluded Christian empire of 
Abyssinia, and the semi-Christian island of 
Socotra ; to speak, though indeed dimly, of 
Zanzibar, with its negroes and its ivory, and 
of the vast and distant Madagascar, border- 
ing on the dark ocean of the south, with its 
Rukh and other monstrosities ; and, in a 
remotely opposite region, of Siberia and the 
Arctic Ocean, of dog sledges, white bears, 
and reindeer-riding Tunguses." 


The exquisite chai'm of spriiig's first ringing laughter 

We measure only by the winter's gloom; 

The wailing winds, the whirling snows, make room 
In our half-frozen hearts for sunshine after! 
If every morn were fair and all days golden, 

And only emerald turf our footsteps trod, 

Our sated souls would tire of velvet sod, 
Our eyes in spells of snow-capped peaks beholden I 
We gauge the flow'ret's beauty by the mould 

That lies so long and dark its sweetness over; 

As absence makes his rapture for th(! lover, 
Who sees no light till he fond eyes behold. 

So God be praised for wintry blasts and snows. 

That end their lessons when the violet blows ! 





IN these days, when every one may travel, 
and the great plains, the Sierra Nevadas, 
and even the beanteons Yosemite Valley are 
becoming trite and common, it will please 
the tourist to learn of new routes of travel, 
fresh siglits and jdaces to be seen. Some 
who have rushed across the continent to see 
the wnmders on its western shore will yet 
gaze with amazement upon equal or greater 
w^onders whicli they have hurried past with- 
out even imagining their existence ; for men 
may journ(!y and see nothing, may travel 
and have little for their pains. Thousands 
boast their overland passage from the At- 
lantic to the Pacilic Ocean, and return, who 
never saw the Rocky Mountains ! Not that 
they traversed them in the niglit, nor that 
some of thc/ mountain ridges were not seen ; 
but that tlie sea of towering snow-clad sum- 
mits which mark the eminent mnjesty of 
this great range were to them distant or in- 

visible, hidden by the foot-hills through 
which they passed. 

Of the whole Rocky chain Colorado Terri- 
tory possesses the chief mountains — certain- 
ly the most famous ; for here, amidst a mul- 
titude of others, each one a monarch in it- 
self, rise Pike's and Long's Peaks — names 
linked with the earliest history of the West 
— the landmarks of j)rairie voyageurs in days 
gone by. Further west. Gray's Peaks, Mount 
Lincoln, and a host besides tower, with sum- 
mits crested with eternal snow, and, circling, 
surround those beautiful and wondrous val- 
leys, which Rasselas might envy — the Norj;h, 
Middle, and South Parks. Here is the snowy 
range, the icy mountain wall which parts 
Orient from Occident — the " divide," as it 
is popularly called, where melting snows 
discharge their waters east and west to the 
w^orld's greatest and most widely sei)arated 

The days of danger are past in Colorado. 
Upon most of the stage routes the traveler is 
as comfortably kept and cared for as at many 
Eastern summer resorts, and already Sarato- 
ga trunks are seen where but a dozen years 
since the bear and deer only were met. 
Many tourists come to see the gold mines, 
perhaps longing to i^an out some "dust" for 
themselves; mineralogists and geologists 
here find the earth's wealth thickly spread 
before them ; the botanist meets a new and 
splendid flora, and cactus growing thriftily 
beside the snow ; the eyes of the ornitholo- 
gist are dazzled with the dark blue-green 
iridescent plumage of the bold and fearless 
Rocky Mountain blue jay, and he starts at 
the sudden cry of the large, garrulous, black 
and white jackdaw. The sportsman looks 
to his rifle as he sees the monstrous tracks of 
the cinnamon grizzly, and by the camp-fire 
listens ^xith surprise to stories of adventures 
with " mountain lions," of hand-to-hand en- 
counters with huge elk, or of thrilling climbs 
amidst the cliffs in pursuit of the big-horn 
or mountain sheep ; regrets the absence of 
his fly-rod as lie hears of cold crystal brooks 
swarming with speckled trout of the same 
old habits and as vigorous in their play as 
those that haunt the Adirondack lakelets or 
the streams of Maine. Tiie Alpine tourist 
feels anew the longing for adventure as he 
hears of untrodden summits vying in alti- 
tude with the loftiest of the Swiss Jura; 
and the artist longs to stand in the presence 
of those scenes which have insi>ired the pen- 
cil of Bierstadt. 

It is a great pleasure-ground, and soon to 
be the resort of those that leave the stale 
and hackneyed routes of European travel 
to see and appreciate the fresh glories of 
their native land; the summer home of 
those who, loving mountains, prefer to find 



(heir Alps this side the stomach - troubling 

The visitor to Denver has at least a distant 
view of the mighty mountain chain, some 
of the peaks and ridges of the snowy range 
showing slightly above the darker foot-hills. 
Numerous interesting routes into the mount- 
ains diverge here ; but passing most of them, 
we will go westward on the unfinislied Col- 
orado Central Railroad seventeen miles, over 
the last piece of prairie land, and entering 
the foot-hills, rest at Golden City. 

Golden City is not as auriferous as its 

name implies. Its mineral wcaltli is prin- 
cipally coal, and its mills and well-utilized 
water-power make it the manufacturing 
town of Colorado. It is just within tbe 
foot-hills, which, edged with vertical sand- 
stone precipic(\s — from wliicli ()n(; jjroniincnt 
summit gains the name of Table Mountaiiv — 
almost surround tlie valley where it lies. 
From here a stage can be taken for Central 
City or Georgetown ; and wliile (Georgetown 
should be the, ()l>jeetiv<! jtoint, tli(»se dcsin)us 
of visiting the gobl mines will proceed by 
way of Black Hawk and Central City, re- 




gaining the 
brated soda 

other stage at Idaho, the cele- 
sjirings. This is the route for 
the Middle Park via the lofty, snow-bound 
Berthoud Pass. On this line also lies Guy 
Hill, famous with all stage -travelers and 
stage-drivers in the region for the steep, al- 
most dangerous piece of road descending it 
westward — a zigzag way carved in the face 
of the mountain — down which the six-horse 
coach is driven at full speed. 

The scenery of a mining region is proverb- 
ially barren and desolate ; yet here, though 
the axe has swept the timber from the 
mountains and left them a wilderness of 
stumps, the grand surroundings, the won- 
derful views of crests and chasms, compen- 
sate for the vandalism. Dinner is taken at 
a way-side inn, ^ small white frame build- 
ing ; then, after a few hours of up and down 
hill journeying, the gold mines are reached. 

Suddenly debouching from a valley, we 
turn into a road running at right angles 
with our previous course. The mountains 
rise steeply up on either side, and along the 
road a stream, the north branch of Clear 
Creek — here any thing but clear — runs pent 
in a wooden trough, leaving dry and bare a 
rugged bed of cobble-stones, once its home. 
Among this drift men are shoveling and 
delving, wheeling barrow-loads of gravel to 
the trouijfh or slnice-wav — for this is ''slui- 
cing," a variety of placer gold digging or 
gulch mining. In one spot two men, ap- 
parently engaged in undermining the road. 

step back and look 
up, as though to 
stand from under, 
as we drive above ; 
near by another 
stands beside the 
sluice with a sort 
of steel - pronged 
stable-fork in hand, 
and working the 
ringing tines 
through the swift- 
running muddy 
water, throws out 
the larger stones 
and gravel. All the 
peculiar features of 
a gold -mining re- 
gion were here : 
little water-courses 
in board troughs 
ran upon stilts in 
various directions; 
skeleton undershot 
and overshot wa- 
ter-wheels abound- 
ed ; and in the hills 
on either side 
were dark, cavern- 
ous openings, the 
mouths of tunnels 
or deserted claims. 
Now the bottom of the narrow ravine or 
canon is choked with mills, furnaces, and 
buildings, which often stand among the 
rocks and perch in almost impossible places. 
Through all this the road and the creek with 
difficulty find a passage, and while the one 
is frequently blockaded by teams, the other 
is forced through many a mill and compelled 
to do a deal of dirty work in the " washing 
way." Beyond are stores and shops and a 
Chinese laundry ; and this is Black Hawk, 
the first of the string of village "cities," 
which are indeed but one, crammed into 
this red, gilded gulch, in three miles ascend- 
ing 1500 feet, one town beginning where the 
other ends — Black Hawk, Mountain, Cen- 
tral, and Nevada Cities, each one gi-eater in 
altitude than the other — having together a 
population of 4000 or 5000 souls. 

Central City is well named : on all sides 
of it are mines, which are often as profitable 
as their names are singular. The Ground- 
hog lode, on Bobtail Hill, is a veritable and 
wealthy mine, and, together with a host of 
others, is well worth visiting. 

The Illinois may be taken as a type of 
what is here called a "quartz mine" — it being 
first understood that very little quartz min- 
ing is done in Colorado, the " pay rock," or 
ore, being principally iron and some copper 
pyrites, togt'ther with what is here common- 
ly called brittle copper, with black-jack, or 
zinc-blende, and galena, all forming ores of 
the class called s«7j>/u/refs. It is not often 




that all of these minerals are found together. 
Though quartz always accompanies them in 
some form, the gold is here chiefly associated 
with the pyrites, and such is the unreliable 
nature of popular names that a lump of the 
glittering yellow " fool's-gold" is often called 
quartz hy unlearned miners, wliile the same 
name is commonly applied to the pay rock, 
heavy with the cubic pyrites, by those who 
should know better. Native gold does occur 
in pure quartz rock, but it is seldom that 
very fine specimens are seen. 

Gold mining here becomes systematized, 
and the history of a mine may thus be traced : 

The formation, or " country rock," is a com- 
mon gneiss, apparently of Laurentian age ; 
a vein or lode is found in it exhibiting " bhis- 
som rock," a yellow, spongy mass, charged 
with iron rust formed by the oxidation of 
the pjTites. The discoverer stakes out liis 
claim, and if the " dirt pans well" tin; rest 
of the lode is soon taken up. At h;ngth the 
"top quartz," or " bh)SKom rock," is worked 
out, and even iron mortar and i)csth' fnil to 
pulverize sufficient of the now liard '.\u<\ re- 
fractory ore to pay tlie i)n)H])ect('r for his 
troubhi; water, too, invades the mine- ;ind 
drives him out. Now comes another phase : 



either the claim owners effect a consolida- 
tion — a mining company being formed — or 
the capitalist stei)s in and purchases the 
whole. Lumber and machinery are then 
brought over the mountains, and presently 
buildings appear, and steam hoisting and 
mill machinery, and true mining has com- 
menced. Shafts are sunk, levels and tun- 
nels made, the mine is drained, the ore 
brought out, and, if available, put through 
the stami)-mill. The product of the mill 
would not readily amalgamate with pure 
mercury. It issues from beneath the heavy 
.stamps a grayish, sparkling, thin mud, and 
flowing over gently inclined sheets of amal- 
gamated copper, bright with quicksilver, 
passes off under the name of " tailings," leav- 
ing the gold-dust amalgamated, fixed to the 
surface of the wide copper trough plates. 
From the surface of these plates the amal- 
gam, thick with gold, is wiped at regular 
intervals, and when sufficient is collected it 
is placed in a cloth, the ends of which are 
gathered together and twisted. Upon squeez- 
ing the bag thus formed much of the mercu- 
ry passes out through the pores of the cloth, 
while a heavy, pasty mass of gold, still sil- 
vered by the mercury, remains within. This 
last, with the cloth holding it, is now placed 


in a cast-iron crucible-like cup, to which a 
flat iron top is fastened, a bent pipe of the 
size of small gas tubing passing out at the 
centre, forming the neck of the retort. Upon 
the Application of heat the mercury is ex- 
l^elled, and collected under water at the end 
of the tube for future use ; the cloth is con- 
sumed, and the gold in its pores thus saved, 
while, if the heat be not raised to a height 
sufficient to melt the gold, its exterior still 
shows the shape and impression of the folds, 
seams, and texture of the rag or cloth which 
held it. In this condition is most of the 
raw gold in the possession of the banks of 
these mountain cities, though the tin pail or 
box in which they obligingly exhibit it will 
often contain at the bottom a gleaming yel- 
low metallic sand and gravel, which have 
an intrinsic beauty, and are the " dust" from 
many a placer miner's pan. 

The gold of Colorado is thus obtained ; 
but wealth and are gathered by 

many gold miners and companies who never 
see the metal that they dig. Capital has 
introduced a division of labor, and much 
of the poorer ores, in which the metal is al- 
together invisible — locked up and hidden 
in the sulphurets — never enters the amal- 
gamator, but, after having its value ascer- 
tained by assay, is sold at fifty dollars and 
upward per ton at the smelting furnace. 
Black Hawk has the fame of possessing both 
the first stamp-mill and the first reduction- 
furnace of Colorado. The smeking-works, 
erected in 1867, and in charge of Professor 
Hill, their projector, are famous throughout 
this region, and are to the miner the equiv- 
alent of the grist-mill and the factory of 
the agriculturist. In each case the master 
of machinery and of skilled labor buys the 
crude material from the producer. At the 
smelting -works the poorer ores, and esjie- 
cially those of auriferous copper or argentif- 
erous galena, with the tailings of the stam^i- 
mills, are purchased. The i^rocess is the re- 
duction of the unmanageable sulphurets by 
fire to a condition suitable for the rapid ex- 
traction of their precious contents. This 
disintegration and destruction of the pyrites 
is but a shortening of that natural iirocess 
which has made the outcrop of every vein 
of the sulphurets a porous mass of blossom 
rock. Even at the smeltiug-works the py- 
rites are compelled to aid in their own de- 
struction, and in the open yard of the works, 
broken in small lumps, they are heaped in 
dome-shaped piles, perhaps eight or ten feet 
high, in form not unlike charcoal kilns. A 
layer of wood underneath the pile serves 
as kindling, and before it is entirely con- 
sumed the pyrites themselves take fire, and, 
burning slowly, give off dense, stifling va- 
pors of sulphurous acid gas, sufiicient, one 
would think, to bleach even the dirty hats 
of the bull-whackers passing on the road. 
As this slow combustion proceeds, esi)ecial- 
ly in cold weather, the tops of the heaps 
become incrusted with a bright yellow coat- 
ing of brimstone ; but at length the action 
ceases, about half the sulphur having dis- 
appeared. The once hard, brilliant, and 
sparkling pyrites — bisulphide of iron — 
have become black, clinker -like masses — 
protosulphide of iron, like that used in the 
laboratory for evolving sulphureted hydro- 
gen. This particular protosulphide is too 
valuable for laboratory purposes ; and after 
calcination in a long range of brick ovens, 
where, under intense flame-heat, it is kept 
stirred with iron rods, an additional por- 
tion of sulphur is expelled. It now as- 
sumes the form of a black or brown powder, 
and is finally thrust into the smelting fur- 
nace, which is of the reverberatory kind, 
strongly built of fire-brick, supported and 
held by a system of broad iron bars passing 
around and over it, and bolted and clamped 
together. The work of this furnace is con- 




stant, the temperature 
maintained terrible to con- 
template, and gazing in at 
the small door by which the 
process may be observed, 
nothing is seen, when the 
heat is greatest, but a white 
glare as dazzling as the sun. 
Into this furnace the roast- 
ed ore is iDut, an average 
similarity in its composi- 
tion being secured by the 
mixture of auriferous, ar- 
gentiferous, and cuprifer- 
ous ores, as may be neces- 
sary, the design being to 
form a compound which, 
when melted, will react and 
separate into an upper and 
lower liquid, the one rich 
and heavy, the other light 
and containing almost all 
the dross. 

The charge being intro- 
duced, the intense heat, 
ivMch acts upon its surface, 
soon reduces it to a molten 
condition ; but the process 
does not stop here, for the 
heat continues and grows 
more intense, till it seems 
to threaten the destruction 
of the furnace and of the 
great tower -like chimney, 
up which the white-hot 
blast rushes furiously. 
After some hours the watch- 
door is opened, and when a 
peculiar brightening of the 
surface of the lake of molt- 
en metal is observed the 
fire is withdrawn, and pres- 
ently an opening on one 
side of the furnace, till 
now stopped with lire-claj^, 
is tapped, and the lighter 
surface metal allowed to 
pour out into rough moulds 
of dry sand. This is worth- 
less slag, being a mixture' 
of silicate and protosul- 
phide of iron, and it is 
mouhled merely that it may be more easily 
handled when cool, and carted away to form 
roads or fill gullies. It is remarkable for its 
hardness and brittleness ; for, while glass 
may be scratched with it, a mass of a hun- 
dred jKHinds' weight or more will fall to 
pieces under the boot. After the slag has 
been drawn off an opening is made at the 
other side of the furnace, and the lower 
liquid, the brilliant fluid metal, is led into 
open sand moulds similar to those that held 
the slag. This product is called matt, and 
though of the same dark iron-color of the 
slag, is a mass of gold, silver, copper, and 


iron, with a small amount of sulphur, which 
seems to remain in combination with the 
iron. The Colorado treatment is over, and 
the precious black matt is forthwith start- 
ed upon a Journey across the world by rail 
and sea to P^ngland — or rather to Swansea, 
Wales — -where the gold and silver are ex- 
tracted, and the copper remaining is suf- 
ficient to pay not only the cxi)en8C of trans- 
portation, but the cost of the various proc- 
esses through which it has ])ass('(l. 

But let UH turn from the consid<!ratioii of 
gold extraction to gold mines. One lu ight 
October afternoon, accompanied by Mr. Bela 




S. Buel. of Central City, I examined a mine 
of which my companion was principal own- 
er. The mine was situated on Quartz Hill, 
south of and above Nevada. In the superin- 
tendent's office we exchanged coats and hats 
for less worldly habiliments, and, provided 
with overalls of a color uncertain from the 
dry mud upon them, prepared to descend. 
The costume was nearly as picturesque as 
that of the oiled-skin-enveloped neophytes 
who haunt the rocks beneath Niagara. 
Having lighted our candles, a small trap- 
door in the platform covering the mouth 
of the shaft was opened, and disclosed a 
dark pit, perhaps eight or ten feet square 
at the mouth, dropping apparently fathom- 
less into the depths of the earth. A steep 
ladder fastened to one of the walls showed 
the means of descent, and we went down 
into the pit ; the trap-door closing left 
us in inky darkness, which the light of 
the feeble tapers we carried but ]iartially 
dispelled. Tlie steep, nuiddy ladders led 
on down till to the imagination the depth 
below was awful. Not a ray of light could 

penetrate it, not a sound or echo came up 
from it to indicate the existence of life 
below : the water droi)piug from the oozy 
walls, the scrap of rock detached, were lost 
and gave no sound. O gold ! beloved of 
men, bright, glittering gold, gloomy and 
desolate are the pathways to thy home ! 

At last some slippery boards received our 
feet, and we paused to rest ; then down again 
by shorter and more inclined ladders, with 
platforms at intervals of twenty-five or thir- 
ty feet. Occasionally dark, horizontal tun- 
nels led o& into the rock, which now formed 
the only walls of the deep shaft. These 
levels were passages to upper headings, and 
were not provided with rails or cars, the ore 
being cast below to another level, where con- 
veniences for carrying and hoisting existed. 
Passing along one of these levels, we came 
to what was known as the skip shaft ; for 
here, boxed off in one half of a shaft the 
huge Cornish sliij) carried the ore to the sur- 
face. This vessel, which has a carrying ca- 
pacity of twenty cubic feet, here reiilaced 
the less spacious and heavier kibble buckets 
of old-time mines, and was of boiler iron, 
strongly bolted or riveted together, forming 
an oblong box, open at one of the smaller 
ends, which was also uppermost. A prolon- 
gation of the metal at one of the upper edges 
gave it a lip like that of a rectangular coal- 
scuttle, and served a similar purpose, pre- 
venting the spilling of the ore when the top 
of the shaft is reached, and the skip, by an 
automatic arrangement, discharges its con- 
tents. One engineer above, by levers ready 
to his hand, controlled both engine and skip, 
and, at a signal from below — the ringing of 
a gong-bell at the shaft mouth, by means of 
a cord or bell-rope passing down the shaft — 
would bring the skip with a rush to the sur- 
face, see it discharged, and send it swiftly 
down again. 

Descending further, we reached another 
tunnel, and then a short ladder brought us 
to the lower level and the bottom of the 
shaft, a well hole, called the SHm2)h, all the 
drainage of the mine being led this way, and 
the water here raised by the skip to the sur- 
face. Entering the level, which was partial- 
ly floored, and had a narrow wooden rail- 
way, we went toward the heading, encoun- 
tering a subterranean breeze which threat- 
ened the extinction of our lights. It was 
a singular avenue Ave traversed. Much of 
the ore above had been removed or worked 
out, and as only the ore had been taken, the 
bent, overhanging, and recurved walls rose 
above us till lost to sight in the gloom, mak- 
ing plain to the eye the form of a true fissure 
vein. The hanging wall, propi)ed every 
where with short but heavy timbers, threat- 
ened us as we passed beneath, and ever and 
I anon trembled responsive to the distant 
thunder of blasting. Now we passed an up- 
1 ward-leading shaft, arranged for ventilation; 



and called a winze; then a board boxing -was 
seen at one side, descending from some upper 
level, and crammed with ore, held back by 
a sort of slide-gate at the lower end. This 
was a mill, but more resembled a strange sort 
of hopper; it held the ore cast down by 
miners from above, and kept it from the rail 
track till a car was ready to receive it ; when 
by simi)ly raising the gate the ore poured 
forth into the car. 

The heading was an interesting sight : 
numbers of miners were here engaged, some 
" jmshiug the level," and some on slight jdat- 

forms of poles picking the gold rock from 
overhead ; while the numerous lights, re- 
flected with a thousand minute scintillations 
from the glittering walls, briglit with mir- 
ror-like crystals of golden-colored i)yrite8, 
made the place appear a very cave of Monte 
Christo, and the walls rather of royal metal 
than of gleaming ore. Gold was (^vcry where ; 
the very rock seenuHl to have t.'ikcn a bright 
color, to make it a lit dwelling for the metal 
king. G(dd under foot, gold on the walls, 
gold in the roof, hut realli/ vcrij lilllc visibl€f 
the brilliancy of the tawdry, tinsel associates 



hiding its less brazen beauty. Seldom is it 
here seen until the stamp-mill and the fur- 
nace have done their work. The appearance 
of a sulphuret vein is worth description : the 
vein-stone does not entirely fill the fissure, 
and on either wall are lateral cavities con- 
taining drusy quartz, the slender crystals 
thickly bristling on the rock. Far more 
beautiful, however, are the large cubes of 
iron pyrites, which for perfection of shape 
and polish are unrivaled, while their size is 
a surprise to the Eastern mineralogist. No 
glass or metal mirror can equal the polish of 
their faces ; but often I noticed them super- 
ficially inclosed or boxed in sheets of quartz 
as thin as writing-paper, which at a touch 
from the finger slipped aside and showed the 
gleaming facets of a virgin crystal, on which 
light never shone before. 

It was late evening almost before we 
knew it. The miners had all left, and we 
hastened upward. Slowly climbing, laden 
with specimens, we found the ascent more 
toilsome than the descent ; and pausing now 
and then to rest, noticed where the white 
sperm of the miners' candles had dri^jped 
upon the wet rocksof the shaft, and, changed 
in color by the copper salt in solution to a 
verdigris-green as vivid as the spring foliage 
of the* forest, showed the mineral richness of 
even the water of this region. 

Above-ground once more, we bade the 
superintendent good-night, and went quick- 
ly out into the frosty darkness on our re- 
turn to Central City, and a comfortable 
though late supper at the Connor House. 

Much maybe seen at Central City even in 
a day or two. If the inquisitive traveler 
escape falling into some one of the numer- 
ous disused pits which make the mountain- 
sides a dangerous region after dark — if he 
have seen the famous silver mines at Cara- 
boo, some twenty miles away, and the wild 
and beautiful Boulder Creek Canon — he 
may take the stage that every afternoon 
goes rumbling off to Idaho, and, leaving 
mines, proceed in search of mountains. 

Up, slowly up, we go, leaving behind Cen- 
tral and Nevada, till, gaining a lofty ridge, 
we see before us the whole bright, sun-lit 
southward picture, where, prominent and 
picturesque among other scarcely less ro- 
mantic summits, rise softly and dreamily 
the Indian Chieftain, with Squaw and Pa- 
jioose mountains at his side. Who would 
think that in that neighborhood lies the 
scenery of Bierstadt's " Storm in the Rocky 
Mountains," the Chicago Lakes and Chicago 
Mountain ? Who would dream that that 
cloudless sky could ever be convulsed in 
such dark magnificence ? Away to the west- 
ward are loftier, haughtier sunnnits, dazzling 
in their spotless robes of white. But we 
have crossed the ridge, and to the crack of 
the whip go hurrying and jolting down to 
Idaho and the hot soda springs. 

Idaho, named from the " purple flower" 
of the Utes — a rich, wild columbine here 
growing in profusion — is a quiet little vil- 
lage, and though 7800 feet above the sea, is 
at the bottom of the valley of Clear Creek, 
whose shallow, sparkling waters sever it, 
and give occasion for a rude, picturesque 
wooden bridge, over which the main road 
up from Golden and Denver has its way. 

The springs, three in number, are on the 
south side of the creek, and the steaming 
alkaline water, issuing from the rock at 
a temperature of about 109° Fahrenheit, 
trickles down and forms a little brook of 
soda-water, better suited for washing than 
for drinking. This is genuine sof?a- water — 
cooking soda with nearly an equal amount of 
suli)hate of soda (Glauber's-salt), and a con- 
siderable percentage of Epsom salt and salts 
of iron and Lime, besides common chloride of 
sodium, forming together a mixture _2iro&«&?^ 
of great medicinal value, bat certainly not 
agreeable when taken internally. 

Idaho, being a quiet and cozy place, has 
become quite a resort, and few of the tired 
and dusty tourists from the East pass it 
without enjoying a hot bath. The waters 
have also the reputation of being curative 
in rheumatic and paralytic diseases, and for 
cutaneous affections no one can doubt their 
efiflcacy, for it is a most cleansing solution. 

But now away for Georgetown and the 
end of civilization on the Atlantic slojie, the 
place where silver bricks are used as pa^ier- 
weights upon the public desk .of the bank 
counter: fearlessly used, not because the 
spirit of absolute honesty has settled dove- 
like on the heads of teamsters and miners, 
but because the bricks of precious metal are 
much too large to pocket, and rather heavy 
for any one man to carry off. 

Away, then, fast as six horses can whirl 
the lumbering coach, up a deep canon valley 
sunk between almost precipitous mountains, 
along beside the flashing, hurrying creek. 
Spanish Bar, and Fall River with its won- 
derful Profile Rock, the semblance of a fierce 
human head, sharply projecting from the 
opposite mountain crest, were i)assed, and, 
as the sun's shadows lengthened, a canon 
opened to the right, showing a long vista 
through the dark mountains up to where 
two white slopes bent grandly down to form 
the Berthoud Pass over the snowy range, its 
lowest point more than eleven thousand feet 
above the sea. 

It was evening when the deep valley 
widened, and the mountains, parting to right 
and left, made space for a small plateau or 
upland prairie — a bar, in mountain parlance 
— then, circling and closing in darkly and 
gloomilj^, seemed to forbid further progress. 
Picturesquely spread and scattered on the 
plain which forms the pit of this great natu- 
ral amphitheatre was Georgetown. Beauti- 
ful little city, nestled in this last romantic 



nook of the mountains, with its broad streets 
and neat white houses, and Clear Creek wind- 
ing through it like a ribbon of flowing metal 
from the mountain's silver veins ! Beautiful 
valley, land-locked with granite ridges, up 
which the scanty evergreen forest creeps to 
meet the frosts of a perennial winter, and 
draw back, dwarfed and withered, down the 
steeps! It hardly seems to be a mining 
town, so little crowded and so quiet. How 
the thin air startles one! Strange spot to 
build a city ! Europe has no jdace like it, 
for it is more than five thousand feet higher 

than the glacier-walled vale of Chamounix, 
and it is even higher than the far-famnl 
snow-girt hospice of the St. Bernard. Yet 
it is iwt altogether a mining town, for al- 
ready it has become a centre of resort for 
tourists, and in the Barton House it pos- 
sesses one of the best hotels between the 
Rocky Mountains and the Missouri River. 

Just above the town is the famous Devil's 
Gate, a deep chasm, cliff- walled, tliroiigli 
which this branch of Clear Creek — Vas- 
(|uies Fork — foams and leai)8. 

Twelve or fifteen miles from Georgetown 



aro Gray's Peaks, perhaps the loftiest of the 
true Rockj' Mountains, rising, it is said, to 
an elevation of 15,000 feet above the sea. 
Securing the services of IVIr. Bailey, of 
Georgetown, and two of his gallant black 
steeds, early morning found us on our way 
to make the ascent, cantering along the 
well-kept and firm though narrow road 
which followed the valley or canon of the 
stream westward and upward. It must not 
be supposed that the road is maintained for 
the accommodation of tourists visiting the 
snowy summits. It leads to many a rich 
silver mine, and teams toil along it daily, 
dragging wagons heavily laden with gray, 
glistening ore. 

A zigzag path ascending the mountain- 
side from the road attracts attention. It 
is a trail from some silver mine among the 
cliffs, where wagon teams can not be brought. 
A dangerous path even for human foot : but 
see, here come its travelers, a sober-looking 
set of silver-gray donkeys! In single tile, 
without bit or bridle, they come leisurely 
on, bearing upon their backs bags of silver 
ore slung across the pack-saddles. The sure- 
footed beasts neither slip nor stumble, and 
day after day toil on, receiving many kicks 
and no caresses ; on Sundays only, gather- 
ing in squads, standing idly side by side 
with crossed necks, fondling one another; 
on week-days at their work, laden with 
precious ore, the very pictures of humility 
with wealth. 

And here we notice a "tunnel claim," a 
slight excavation made into the rock, with 
a few timbers put up before it — two sides 
and a toj) piece — representing the commence- 
ment of the timbering of a tunnel, or adit lev- 
el, to the lower portion of some vein opened 
on the surface further up the mountain. 
Such a tunnel claim, under slight rules, en- 
titles its owner to a plot of laud one or two 
hundred feet square around its mouth, and 
to property in any lodes, or metallic veins, 
he may discover. 

The valley now opened beyond, and sudden- 
ly gave us a near view of the snowy range, 
which we had imperceptibly approached. 
How strange and solitary the asjjcct of the 
white slopes and ridges of that mountain 
desert ! Yonder a peak of bold, sharp out- 
line stands high above the rest ; long, nar- 
row ridges, ice-edged, leading upward to the 
summit, and dread crevasses and chasms 
forming defenses on its flanks. Is that 
our goal ? " No ; it is only the Little Pro- 
fessor," a much less summit than the one we 
have to climb. Now we turn sharply to the 
left, up into the mountains, following a nar- 
row, steep, winding road, through the ever- 
green forest. Strange, though at George- 
town there was no snow, here the road is 
deep and heavy with it, and the whole scene 
is one of midwinter in the Eastern Middle 
States. The road, winding and turning. 

constantly ascends ; and the dull trampling 
of the horses in the snow is the only sound 
heard in the silent and shadowy forest. This 
is October ; at home the brilliant joyous sea- 
son of ripe fruits and gleaming, gaudy fo- 
liage ; here already chill and joyless winter. 
We had left far below the groves of aspen — 
trees of the fluttering leaf — and had now 
around us only the tall, majestic pines, the 
slender and graceful Menzies and Douglass 
spruces, and tiie gleaming silver-firs, that 
answer to the balsams of Canadian forests. 
Beneath the trees the snow was marked 
with rabbit tracks, and now and then the 
animal itself was seen — the great Northern 
hare, in fact — here already changed in color, 
and at times so white as to be hardly dis- 
tinguishable upon the snow, while some but 
partially changed, mottled white and brown, 
were the more readily seen. To one acquaint- 
ed with the habits of the animal this api^ar- 
ently premature change of color is remark- 
able. At this season of the year and in this 
latitude only here amidst the lofty mount- 
ains does the change occur thus early, those 
inhabiting less elevated regions much fur- 
ther north still retaining their brown sum- 
mer pelage ; and in the lowlands it is only 
when we reach the arctic circle, and the 
lowland zone of perpetual snow or ice, that 
we find the " varying hare" assuming at this 
season his white winter coat. 

I was surprised to learn that wolves were 
not found in the mountains, and, from de- 
scription, became satisfied that the mountain 
lion — which is here sometimes met with — is 
the panther or cougar of the Eastern States. 
Here, however, was the home of the monarch 
brute, the cinnamon bear, or cinnamon griz- 
zly, as it is more properly termed. 

It is a little remarkable that even the 
great savage of our continent grows less and 
dwindles in our estimntion as we near his 
home. We learn not only that he does not 
always seek the encounter, but nowadays 
often has the discretion to scanijier off upon 
the sight of man. We are not so much sur- 
prised to learn that he is not absolutely 
carnivorous, and that he is even capable of 
sustaining life upon a diet altogether vege- 
table; but what have we to say when we 
learn that this mighty beast, at certain sea- 
sons of the year, devotes the whole of his 
majestic mind and body to fhe capturing 
and eating of grasshopi>ers ? It is but an- 
other example of the great law of nature, the 
preying of the strong upon the weak ; but 
the strangest thing is the way in which he 
gets the gryllida'. In the summer seasou 
these pests of plain and valley swarm up 
among the mountains, as though insiiired 
with the desire which every living, progress- 
ive being has to press westward. At length 
in some of their airy flights they are caught 
by the winds, and wafted swiftly upward to 
the snowy range, their own strong wings 


assisting. Here, alas! fortune and strength 
fail them, and, chilled in that unaccustomed 
atmosi)here, they fall upon the snow lifeless. 
The winds that previously aided and be- 
guiled them iHire now gatker and drift them 
into funereal piles in hollows and crevices 
amidst the snow. Thus wonderful masses 
of them accumulate, and at this season Mas- 
ter Grizzly wanders over the snow fields, 
peering into crannies and crevices, and find- 
ing a hoard, deftly conveys pawfuls to his 
capacious mouth. 

We saw nothing of these monsters, how- 
ever; and now the strange and wondrous 

scenery withdrew my mind from them. We . 
had reached a wide upland valley walled by 
naked precipitous mountains of dark gnois- 
soid rock. The forest had grown thinner, 
the trees were smaller, and looking hack 
over their tops, the depths from winch we 
had ascended were seen, while other valh>ys, 
opening in various directions, diversified tli<" 
solemn landscape. Bcfi)re us tlu^ broad 
chasm valley came slo])iiig down in a great 
curve, its terminus hidden by iui intervening 
mountnin at the right. At tlic left, sheer 
and rui2:<jred, rose M'Clellnn Mountnin, one 
long curved ridge of precipices ; while on 



the slopes below — the talus of the cliffs — 
were scattered the lust stunted, twisted, and 
gnarled trees wliose nature enabled tbeiu to 
stand the climate — the pitch-pine ( Piniis 
couiorta), of shriveled and dwarfed growth. 

A little further, and wo crossed an ice- 
bound brook by a crumbling bridge of logs, 
which told that even here man had come in 
search of gain and profit. We were neariug 
our object, Jind the day was bright, clear, 
and so far favorable ; yet the labor was still 
to come. Breaking a hole in the ice, be- 
neath which the little stream went gurgling 
and nmrmuring, we gave our horses drink. 
A faint cry, almost lost even in that still- 
ness, came softly quivering down as if from 
the sky or from the cliff-tops of M'Clellan 
Mountain. Glancing upward, a keen scru- 
tiny at length discovered a small building 
(shed or shanty) clinging apparently upon the 
face of the precipice, more than five hundred 
feet above our heads ! W^hat could it be ? 
What were those long ropes that sloped down 
at an angle of seventy degrees to a building 
which we now jioticed in the valley ? 

It was the famous Stevens silver mine, 
located 12,000 feet above the level of the 
sea — nearly twice the height of Mount 
Washington, which, with the Baker mine 
upon the less precipitous mountain at the 
right, is probably the highest jioint in Col- 
orado — perhai)S in the United States — where 
mining is carried on. Those cables which 
seem but threads are endless wire ropes, 
moved over drums and pulleys by machinery 
in the lower building. The one descending 
carries buckets of ore ; the empty buckets are 
returned by the ascending portion. Against 
the rocks hang other ropes, and there is some 
sort of pathway up which men, clinging and 
scrambling, may climb. Few care, even if 
permitted, to slowly pass up through the air 
in nothing but a kibble bucket, hung from 
a quivering, trembling wire cable. It was 
a giddy spot to look at, and I learned that 
it was considered the hardest place of labor 
in the Territory. The thin air saps the 
muscles and energy of the miner, and a sin- 
gle stroke of the jiick tires his whole body. 
Afteu three or four days' labor in the mine 
the haggard and nerveless workman is pulled 
up, and sent off" down the mountains to 
.Georgetown, to get breath and strength for 
another struggle ; while if he have a trace of 
consumi)tion, one effort is sufficient to send 
him back a corpse. 

It was past, and out of sight ; and we al- 
most seemed to have reached the bound- 
aries of the world, and the drear, barren, 
rocky wastes that lie between it and the blue 
ether of the heavens. We had reached the 
timber line. I turned my horse, and looked 
and wondered. The dark green forest had 
crept iTp into this high valley, and here 
ceased suddenly; in reached for- 
ward in short strijjs like courageous, un- 

daunted squads of infantry i»ressing onv> ard 
eagerly before their comrades upon the 
foe. How wonderful a war between natural 
forces — how obstinate the contest where they 
meet ! The few daring trees that stood forth 
solitary before their fellows had been seized 
by some strong invisible power and twisted 
and contorted into shriveled, writhing ago- 
nies of dead, bleached limbs. Their tops re- 
sembled dry and weather-beaten roots, and 
all their life was near the ground, where 
some branches crept out horizontally, grov- 
eling to obtain the gix)wtli and breadth that 
w^ere denied them above. Dread clime, where 
even the hardy evergreen is forced to yield I 

We were above the timber line, here rising 
to 11,000 to 12,000 feet from the sea, above 
the limit of tree life, in the open valley 
where only the dwarfed forms of arctic or 
Alpine vegetation found existence. There 
was no road now, hardly a trail. At times 
our horses trod in snow, then their hoofs 
turned up the deep brown peaty soil of the 
Alpine bog, with its surface of microscopic 
plant grovv'th, and now" their iron shoes rang 
against fragments of stone. Suddenly we 
entered a forest — but what a forest! It 
hardly rose to our horses' knees, yet the trees 
were full grown. They were deciduous, 
their leaves all fallen, but their unmistaka- 
ble growth and cottony catkins showed 
them to be willows. It was, in fact, a 
growth of the mountain willow ( Salix j^liyU- 
cifolia ? ), which, like the varying hare, is 
only abundant on the lowlands of the frozen 
North and the equivalent frosty regions of 
high mountains. 

Hark ! what are those strange ventrilo- 
quistic, chirping sounds, now near, now 
far, now like the cries of prairie-dogs, now 
like the piping of the partridge grouse ? 

" It's the conies — see !" 

A little gray, mouse-colored animal, not 
larger than a Guinea-i)ig, thrust his head up 
out of the snow, and, motionless, as though 
he thought himself quite unobserved, glared 
at us with his wild-looking little eyes. 

" Watch him ; he's coming out." 

With a slight awkward scramble, the tiny 
beast emerged, and took his place upon a 
fragment of stone projecting above the snow. 
Oddest of creatures, he had absolutely no 
tail ! 

It is peculiar to these lofty mountain des- 
erts, and their little communities make them 
to the eye the equivalent of the prairie-dog 
of the plains. T^ey are said to be a true 
cony, however, and no marmot, and conse- 
quently can not hibernate like the common 
woodchuck, but must remain amidst or un- 
der the deep winter snow, cutting galleries 
and tunnels through it to the herbs and 
stems on which they feed. Such channels 
or subniveous passages I found among the 
thick growth of mountain willows, but did 
not establish their object. The Rocky Mount- 



a continent! The 
nearer, stern, dark, 
and preci])itou8 ; 
the other, still afar 
off, soft in outline, 
and sloping easily 
down to a great bed 
of snow and ice — 
the hidden, crouch- 
ing, shadow-loving 
remnant of a gla- 

But how are we 
to reach that crest 
of snow ? Midway, 
just beyond the 


moraine, are 


ain cony should not be confounded with the 
Scriptural animal, for, as already stated, it 
is a true cony, and is classed by naturalists 
with the rabbit kind (Lepus ), whereas that 
called Slidphdn by the Hebrews owes its 
present name merely to a mistake of the 
English translators of the Bible. 
" What was that ?" 

Something resembling a hand-breadth of 
snow fluttered up from among the vrillows, 
and flying a short distance, lit and was lost 
again upon the earth's white covering. An- 
other and another followed, till presently 
the surface of the snow seemed animated. 

" White partridges !" cried the guide. 
" How tame they are ! See them, walking 
within stone's-throw !" 

Truly it was an interesting sight. It was 
a flock of the rare willow-grouse, or ptarmi- 
gan (Tetrao [lagopus'] saliceti), another hab- 
itant of subarctic regions, here finding a 
congenial home. Like the Northern hare, it 
had already lost shade and color, and its 
spotless winter plumage made it all but in- 
visible against the snow. We had roused 
them from their feeding ground, for they 
were living on the buds of the dwarf willow. 
After a vain attempt to shoot some with a 
revolver, for specimen for the taxidermist, 
we proceeded, satisfied that with a fowling- 
piece most of them could have been secured, 
for they are but little acquainted with man, 
and so tame that it is said that they have 
been taken by hand. 

Here the valley was finally closed in and 
ended by the mountains, i)rominent among 
which were two lofty summits, towering 
and imposing still, and yet we stood more 
than twelve thousand feet above their deep 
foundations ! 

Wo saw the summits of Gray's Peaks. 
Grand, awe-inspiring spectacle! crests of 
Vol. XLVI.—No. 271.— 3 

steep j)recipice8, 
dropping at the left 
to the very bottom 
of the valley, while 
their edges, glary 
with ice, slope at 
the right to the 
fathomless snow-drift which covers all that 
remains — if there be any remnant — of the 
old glacier. 

" There is no difficulty," says my compan- 
ion, calmly ; " the trail winds along the edge 
of the cliff, from which the wind has blown 
most of the snow, and, except where the 
ground is slippery, it's perfectly safe." 

Another half hour of constant ascent and 
I was upon the brink of that precipice ; in- 
voluntarily drawing rein, awaiting the com- 
ing of my guide. The silence here was aw- 
ful. The deep drifts at the right, on the 
margins of which our horses floundered fear- 
fully, had forced us from the trail to the 
very edge of the cliffs. The soft, new snow, 
of unknown depth, looked treacherously 
calm and beautiful, and where it met the 
opposite mountain wall had a n6vd glacier 
appearance, upholding fallen boulders, and 
here and there scored with a long drift of 
rock and gravel, cast down from the over- 





hanging cliffs by 
frost, and which it 
was now its duty 
to slowly carry 
down, to form, per- 
haps, one last mo- 
raine. Beneath the 
other hand was the 
dark, dizzy chasm, 
the cliff descend- 
ing sheerly six 
hundred feet and 

We were above 
the region of plant 
or animal life, upon 
the margin of 
things inorganic ; 
surely, it seemed 
to me, this might 
be termed "Life- 

But still far 
above arose the 
snowy crest which 
we designed to 
climb. The preci- 
pices passed, a 
long, steep slope 
of snow-clad rocks 
rose before us, and 
a narrow trail, 
winding in short 
precarious zigzags 
on its face, led up- 
ward toward the 
summit. The horses 
were now exceed- 
ingly distressed, 
and panted pain- 
fully after each ex- 


ertion ; their bodies were swollen from lack 
of atmospheric pressure. The narrow trail 
was hidden beneath drifts, and could hardly 
be followed; its turns were so abrux^t, and 
the mountain's face so steep, that, when our 
horses plunged into deep snow, or stumbled 
over hidden rocks, it seemed as though 
horse and horseman must dash down head- 
long after the hurrying, scudding masses of 
snow, helplessly over the steep, glary, ledge- 
less crust, to be ingulfed in the deep snowy 
tomb below. 

At length the fresh snow became so deep, 
and further progress in the saddle so haz- 
ardous, that, reaching a spot where there 
was standing ground, we left the horses 
loose, knee-deep in the downy drift, the 
guide sure of their remaining where we had 
placed them. 

Making directly for the summit, in a few 
moments, chilled, breathless, and panting, we 
were compelled to rest. There was some- 
thing startling about the thinness or rare- 
faction of the air. The lungs gasped, and 
yet, shuddering, almost repelled the cold, 

dry, strange atmosphere which offered itself 
to aid vitality. Too violent an exertion 
produced dizziness, and we weie compelled 
to proceed with caution. 

Suddenly, as we climbed, the western sky 
grew larger and more vast, increasing and 
growing as we clamber(;d, till at once the 
whole westward view burst on us, and we 
were standing upon the very crest. 

Before us, walled in by a vast mountain 
chain, whose average height exceeded 1:5,000 
feet, whose passes (the Georgia, Snakes River, 
and Berthoud) were from 8000 to 11,000 feet 
from the sea-level, far below, stretched like 
a vast topographical map, was the Middle 
Park, with all its subordinate mountain 
ranges, and numerous streams and rivers— 
the springs and sources of the Kio Colorado. 
Thousands of feet below, trees and vegeta- 
tion gave color to the scenery, and marked 
the limits of plant growth. At the right, 
half-way down, in a hug(! basin hollowed in 
the gneissoid rock, was Lake Colfax, a d:irk 
green, glist(!iiing mirror. The park itself, 
with its valleys, plains, and prairies, stretch- 





ed away into the hazy distance westward, 
to where snow-crowned ridges, southward 
from the Rabbit-ear Mountains, were parted 
to give passage to the deep-flowing Colora- 
do. Such was the view down the Pacific 
slope ; eastward, fifty miles away across the 
mountain billow, like a calm ocean, lay the 
boundless prairies. 

Spurned by our feet, heavy masses of 
snow sped eastward 
and westward down 
the mountain slopes, 
parting to the world's 
great seas. The one 
to thaw and glide 
through the dark 
canons of the Colora- 
do to the Gulf of Cali- 
fornia and the Pacific 
Ocean ; the other to be 
hurried with the yel- 
low spring floods of 
the Platte, Missouri, 
and Mississippi to the 
Gulf of Mexico and the 

Call not a mountain 
range the backbone 
of the earth ; to man 
the world is not a be- 
ing, but a dwelling; 
rather liken these 
great ridges to the 
dome, the strange, 
weird, fantastically 
ornamented pinnacle 
and ridge-roof of his 
vast treasure - house. 
Til is was indeed the 
divide — the great wa- 
ter-shed of the conti- 
nent, whose gutters 
are mighty rivers, 
wliose cisterns are the 

But oh ! how wonderful this mountain ar- 
chitecture — the unmarred handiwork of our 
God ! Gazing down upon these frosty peaks, 
they seemed a sea of monstrous icebergs, a 
frozen ocean — a spectacle whose only equiva- 
lent would be such a scene as an ocean's bed 
laid bare, its waters driven back and stilled, 
and its deepest and most secret chasms all 

The day was beautifully clear, a few light 
cirrous clouds only floating above. Away at 
the southwest were Mount Liycoln, the So- 
pris, and other peaks without number — a 
white sea of shrouded mountains; and far 
in the north rose Long's Peak, another chief- 
tain, lacking only a few hundred feet of the 
height of Gray's Peaks. Below, in the gla- 
cial valley through which we had made the as- 
cent, the limit of the forest was seen, at that 
distance appearing merely to be a dense car- 
peting of green ; while it was remarkable 
that on the northern exposures of the mount- 
ains, and in the deeper ravines, the trees 
seemed to be more thrifty, and the timber 
line to be higher, than on the more open, 
sun-lit plateaux, or the southern fronts. 

After lunching upon the summit to wind- 
ward of some stones — supposed to represent 
a wall — we started downward, and found 
our horses shivering under their blankets. 





Tli«n, leading them, we slowly but safely de- 
scended to the valley. Conies and i)tarmi- 
gans were seen again, and the Alpine hogs 
passed ; hut there was no time to tarry : the 
sun, so bright upon the mountain-top, had 
here already left every thing to ishadow. 
However, once below the snow and ice of 
this October winter, and upon good roads, 
we sped along at a swift canter, and shortly 
after dark dismounted before the Barton 
House, in Georgetown, receiving congratula- 
tions on our successful ascent at so late and 
unpropitious a season, while Mr. Bailey em- 
phatically declared it the last trip which he 
would make that year. 

Withal it was a delightful ride, entertain- 
ing and instructive ; and a ride of about 
thirty miles, the ascent and descent of a 
monarch mountain — chief of its range, and 
fourteen or fifteen thousand feet in altitude 
— is not made every day between sunrise 
and sunset. The Rocky Mountains are not 
seen till these peaks have been climbed ; but 
in the summer season access to them is less 
difficult, even ladies making the ascent. 

Geologically, there is hardly a more in- 
teresting ground than the region around 
Gray's Peaks. I have referred to the evi- 
dences of glacial action in their immediate 
neighborhood : the proofs of such action are 
conclusive. There are moraines and moraine 
dams and frozen lakelets, and I was informed 
by miners of the Stevens mine that frost is 
found two hundred feet deep in the gravel, 
and that it seems to be rather increasing in 
depth than decreasing. If this be so, it is a 
sufficient refutation of the theory recently 
advanced — that there is no line of perpetual 
congelation among the Colorado mountains; 
and it would prove that the present lack of 
ice-fields and great glaciers is owing to the 
deficient rain and snow fall, and the dryness 
of the atmosphere consequent upon the great 
distance of the oceans. The accompanying 
map of this mountain neighborhood will be 
sufficient proof to any geologist of the pre- 
vious existence of glaciers there, and ex- 
hibits, also, the timber line, or height to 
which the forest rises. 

The glacial evidences have, however, been 
obscured by subsequent dynamic action — 
frost force — the exposure to frost and heat 
having broken the cliff edges and shivered 
the rocks till moraines are covered and val- 
leys tilled with sharp angular fragments of 
stone. Nothing but glacial power could have 
grooved and cut tlie deep valleys through 
the mountains; nothing but frost could have 
made the crags as rugged and sharj) as they 
now api)ear. 

Again, Green Lake, three miles from 
Georgetown and some 10,000 f<;et above the 
sea, is said to have neither inlet nor outlet, 
and seems to be a veritable glacial pool. 
Singular to relate, it is called a " good place 
for trouting," though how the trout got there 

no one seems to know or care ; and it is a 
favorite resort of the pleasure-seekers at 
Georgetown, who in sail or row boat pass 
merry hours on its crystal surface. 

"But not in silence pass Calypso's isles, 
The sister tenants of the middle deep; 
There for the weary yet a haven smiles, 
Though the fair goddess long hath ceased to weep. " 

— Childe Harold, Canto IT. 

riIHE great commercial and strategic ad- 
J_ vantages derived from its central posi- 
tion, commanding all the chief avenues of 
traffic and communication between Europe 
and the Levantine ports, the excellence of 
its harbor (one of the most commodious and 
easily approached in the Mediterranean), the 
strength of its position, and the elaborate 
nature of its artificial defenses, all com- 
bine to give to the island of Malta an im- 
portance in the political and mercantile af- 
fairs of the nations inhabiting the south of 
Europe far in advance of that which would 
seem to be its due, were we to take into 
consideration solely its size and the number 
of its population. In all ages it lias been 
considered as the key to the Mediterranean, 
and its possession was the surest gunrantee 
for the sovereignty of the sens. Its v/alls 
stemmed successfully the hitherto irresist- 
ible tide of Ottoman invasion, to which 
even Rhodes, long decjmed imi)regnable, and 
heroically defended, had to bow. In fact, 
in modern times it has never been taken 
save by famine or treason; and (le.s])it<' the 
advances the last finv years have made in 
the art of human destruction, an unjjn'ju- 
diced observer, scanning the seeniingly end- 
less ditches, galleries, scarps and counter- 



scarps, and the long rows of grim-looking 
guns peering out at him, might well deter- 
mine to seek "the bubble reputation" else- 
where than at " the cannon's mouth." 

The general aspect of the i)ort of Malta, 
which is well rendered in the accompanying 
cut, is picturesquely impressive. The city 
of Valetta, the capital of the island, was 
constructed in 1566, after the celebrated re- 
pulse of the Ottoman and Tunisian armies 
and fleets by John de la Valette, Grand Mas- 
ter of the Knights of St. John of Jerusa- 
lem, from whom it received its name. It is 
built on a promontory between two harbors, 
and is protected by Fort St. Elmo, which 
may be observed in the foreground of the 
engraving. It is decorated with many 
handsome buildings, which partake of the 
semi-ecclesiastical, semi-chivalric style nat- 
ural to so anomalous a corporation as that 
of the Knights of Malta. The ancient Pal- 
ace of the Grand Masters is now occupied 
by the British Governor, and most of the 
other " hostelries," as they were called, of 
the different tongues or provinces of the 
order have been converted into officers' 
quarters. The principal street of Valetta, 
the Strada Eeale, in which most of these 
palaces are situated, possesses considerable 
architectural beauty, as the houses are dec- 
orated with much rich and elaborate carv- 
ing, and generally display the armorial bear- 
ings and emblems of their former knightly 
proprietors. This street runs along a high 
ridge, and numerous narrow streets descend 
from it on either side to the harbors. This 
ridge being very steep, these streets are in 
reality nothing more than flights of steps, 
trying to the lungs and temper of the prom- 
enader, and commemorated by Byron, in his 
" Farewell to Malta," in the following lines ; 

"Adieu, ye cursed streets of stairs: 
How surely he who mounts you swears !" 

On the opposite side of the Grand Har- 
bor from Valetta lie the towns of Vittoriosa 
and Senglea, which, in point of fact, are 
merely detached quarters of the same city. 
They are protected by strong lines of bat- 
teries and detached forts. In the city of 
Florian, which joins Valetta, are large bar- 
racks for the troops, and great magazines 
of wheat and other stores to provide for 
the contingencies of a siege. The island of 
Malta is now administered by a Governor 
appointed by the crown of Great Britain, 
although the iidiabitants retain the greater 
portion of their own laws and customs, and 
are permitted to choose their own munici- 
pal officers. The Governor, as has been al- 
ready mentioned, resides in the Palace of 
the Grand Masters of the order, a stately 
building of great extent, and adorned with 
many trophies and reminiscences of the an- 
cient warlike triumphs of the knights, but 
rather too sombre and ecclesiastical in its 

style for the requirements of its present oc- 

The cathedral is a building of large size, 
and profusely ornamented, but not display- 
ing much taste either in its architecture or 
internal decorations. Among the latter are 
the armorial shields of four hundred of the 
knights who lie buried within its vaults, 
and likewise funereal effigies of De I'Isle 
Adam and La Valette, two of the most dis- 
tinguished warriors of the order. Tlie 
treasury, although it was partially confis- 
cated by Napoleon I. during the French oc- 
cupation of the island, yet contains some 
very valuable jewelry and goldsmiths' work, 
which the ingenuity of the priests enabled 
them to preserve from spoliation : among 
the rest, the altar rails of one of the chap- 
els, which are of solid silver, and which 
they saved from French rapaciousness by 
painting them wood-color. The oldest por- 
tion of the city is that composed of Vittori- 
osa and Senglea, or " Valetta over the Water," 
as it is popularly called. It contains the 
dock-yards, biscuit bakery, marine stores, 
arsenal, and other establishments for the 
use of the army and navy, which are on a 
very extensive scale, as Malta is pre-emi- 
nently a garrison town. Outside of the 
town is situated the Governor's Summer Pal- 
ace of Monte Verdala, and close to this is a 
species of park, composed of a tract of low 
woodlands, laid out in roads and walks, and 
much affected by the inhabitants. It is 
called the " Borchetto." The general ap- 
pearance of the island is not inaptly de- 
scribed by the term, " an inhabited quarry," 
applied to it by some inappreciative tourist, 
as it is composed of bare limestone, with 
scarcely any water, and, in consequence, a 
very sparse natural vegetation. There are, 
however, many flourishing orchards and 
vegetable gardens, the soil to form which 
has been imported from Sicily ; but as they 
are all inclosed in high limestone walls to 
keep off the prevalent sirocco winds, they 
do not present any enlivening feature to the 
landscape. From the light color and dusty 
nature of the soil, the want of shade and 
the glare of the summer sun, ophthalmia is 
by no means unfrequent, especially among 
the rural population, as the narrow streets 
and high houses in the cities aftbrd their 
denizens comparative protection. Notwith- 
standing the uninviting appearance of the 
scenery, and the badness of the roads, which 
are paved with the dchis of the hard lime- 
stone rock, rendering them both unsafe and 
injurious to horses, riding is one of the chief 
amusements, at least among tlie foreign res- 
idents, for whose use a considerable num- 
ber of horses of the so-called " barb" breed 
are imported from Tunis, Tripoli, and the 
French possessions on the African coast. 
The most daring and reckless, although 
scarcely the most skillful, equestrians are to 



be foniid among the naval officers, whose 
cavalry manceuvres, usually executed at full 
speed, are not uufrequently dangerous not 
oidy to their own necks and limbs, but to 
those of the inoffensive and timid tourist, 
wliose efforts to avoid tliem in their fell ca- 
reer are rendered ineffectual by tlie high 
walls which inclose every lane. The condi- 
tion of the cultivators of the soil is prosper- 
ous, as they find a ready sale for their veg- 

etables to the fleet and garrison, wiiile the 
Maltese oranges command a good ])rice, and 
are in much demand for exi)ortation on ac- 
count of their delicate flavor and fliin skins. 
Tlie agricultural i)ortion of the comnmiiity 
inliabits twenty-two villages of varying size, 
each of which boasts an iinnicns*', often dis- 
j)roportionate, clinrch, for tlie ai)i)earance 
of that edifice seems to a Maltese the purest 
test of religion. 



If tlu; rural districts of Malta may, with- 
out wisiiiiij^ to bo invidious, be termed mo- 
notonous, the ca])ital labors under no such 
reproa(;h, although tlie population appears 
at first si<;ht to contain an overwhelming 
proportion of "padres," red-coats, and goats. 
The numbers of the latter class of inhabit- 
ants are due to the absence of cows, who 
would require too much forage ; whereas 
the hardy goat is cheaply fed, and gives an 
abundant supply of milk, which, if not so 
well flavored as the more usual lactean prep- 
aration, is very wholesome and nourishing, 
and is even recommended to invalids. The 
former semi-ecclesiastical government natu- 
rally left behind a great number of religious 
institutions, which have been left unmolest- 
ed under British rule, and have engendered 
considerable superstition and bigotry among 
the natives, who are completely under the 
influence of their priests. 

A stranger arriving from Europe would be 
surprised at the many and various costumes 
he would meet in the streets. Here all na- 
tions of the Levant appear to congregate ; 
the solemn Turk, the loquacious Greek, the 
white- burnoosed Arab, and the swarthy 
Moor come and go, intermixed with the 
brilliant uniforms of army and fiavy officers, 
who are continually hurrying in all direc- 
tions as their duty calls them. Malta is es- 
sentially a military station, and its society is 
entirely composed of ofiicers, their families, 
and adjuncts, although in the winter season 
a good many visitors, especially yachtsmen 
from English and French ports, are to be 
found. A good deal of gayety goes on dur- 
ing the winter: balls are given by the of- 
ficers of the different regiments, by the Gov- 
ernor and other high officials, and by British 
and foreign men-of-war, who frequently visit 
the harbor. The natives do not participate 
to any great extent in the amusements of 
their rulers, with whom they are not on a 
very cordial footing — au unpleasant state of 
things, for which both parties are perhaps 
equally to blame. An unfortunate incident 
which occurred about ten years ago contrib- 
uted to increase the ill feeling which is per- 
haps inevitable between a purely military 
and a purely civil society, of different na- 
tionalities and interests, and confined within 
the narrow limits of a garrison town. A 
Maltese gentleman of high rank was elected 
a member of the English Club, a very popu- 
lar institution of the city, from which, up to 
that period, natives had been excluded. Be- 
ing a man of prepossessing exterior and pol- 
ished manners, he was well received, and ac- 
quired the esteem of all who came in contact 
with him. Soon after his admission many 
raeml)ers of the club commenced to miss 
jewelry and other valuables which they liad 
tem])orarily deposited there while attending 
to their several duties or pursuits. For a 
\ouii time no clew was obtained as to the 

identity of the evil-doer, but finally, by some 
imprudence on his part, the distinguished 
visitor was taken in the act of " annexing" 
a gentleman's dressing-case, prosecuted, and 
convicted of the offense. Slight disturb- 
ances between the garrison and inhabitants 
are frequent, and produce irritation, as they 
bring the military and civil authorities into 
conflict, each espousing the cause of its own 

The Maltese are an industrious and ingen- 
ious race, noted especially for the manu- 
facture of the well-known filigree brooches 
and other articles of jewelry, which form a 
considerable branch of exportation. Maltese 
lace has a world-wide reputation and a ready 
sale. Several very important lines of steam- 
boats have depots at Malta, especially the P. 
and O. (Peninsular and Oriental) Mail Com- 
pany to India, the French Messageries Na- 
tionales," the Austrian Lloyd steamers, and 
several local and coasting lines. Bible schol- 
ars will not require to be reminded of the in- 
teresting associations Malta preserves with 
reference to the Apostle Paul, who was ship- 
wrecked here on his way from Palestine to 
Rome when about to be tried before Caesar. 


Love ! so sweet at first ! 
So bitter in the end ! 

1 name thee fiercest foe, 
As well as falsest friend. 

What shall I do with these 

Poor withered flowers of May — 

Thy tenderest promises — 
All worthless in a day? 

How art thou swift to slay. 

Despite thy clinging clasp. 
Thy long caressing look, 

Thy subtle, thrilling grasp ! 
Ay, swifter far to slay 

Than thou art strong to save ; 
Thou renderest but a blow 

For all I ever gave. 

Oh, grasping as the grave ! 

Go, go ! and come no more — 
But canst thou set my heart 

Just where it was before? 
Too selfish in thy need! 

Go, leave me to my tears, 
The only gifts of thine 

That shall outlast the yea 

Yet shall outlast the years 

One other, cherished thing, 
Slight as the vagrant plume 

Shed from some passing wing: 
The memory of thy first 

Divine, half-timid kiss. 
Go! I forgive thee all 

In weeping over this ! 






" A ^^^^ library is a statesman's work- 
J\. shop/' said .John Randolph of Roa- 
noke, and every civilized government which 
has existed since hooks were first written 
upon papyrus has had its national collec- 
tion, illustrating its taste, its intelligence, 
and its liberality. In the infancy of our re- 
public its Congressmen profited in turn by 
the New York Society Library, then located 
in the City Hall (where the Treasury build- 
ing now stands), in which they held their 
sessions, and by the Philadelphia Library, 
which had been estal)lished at the instance 
of Benjamin Franklin. And in 1791 the 
Philad(;lphians, then anxious to have their 
city made the permanent metropolis of the 
Federal Union, formally tendered to tb(i 
President and to Congress the free use of tlie 
books in their li])rarv, for which act of court- 
esy President Washington, through his sec- 
retary, Tobias Lear, returned thanks. 

When, in 1800, Congress made final pro- 
vision for the removal and accommodation 
of the government of the United States at 
Conococheague (as the site of the District of 
Columbia had been called by the Indians), 
or Roaring Brook, the mon; intelligent mem- 
bers took care to provide for the com- 
mencement of a library. On the motion of 
Samuel Livermore, a graduate of Princeton 
College, then a Senator from New Hnni])- 
shire, $.^)000 were ap])r()priated for the ])nr- 
chase of books and for fitting uj) a suita])l(; 
apartment in the new Ca])it()l as a library, 
by the Secretary of the Senate and tin; (Jlerk 
of the House, under the direction of a joint 
committee of both Housrs. Tlic (chairman 
of this joint committee, and the only nu'inbcr 
thereof who has left behind liini any trace 
of a fondness for or an acipiaintanc^^ with 
books, was Senator Dexter, of Massaclinsetts, 
a graduate of Harvard Colh;ge, and a lawyer 



of some eniineiice. Under his direction the 
nucleus of the Library of Congress was or- 
dered from London by Samuel A. Otis, who 
was for twenty-five years the honored Sec- 
retary of the Senate. The books reached 
this country packed in trunks, and were for- 
warded to the new metropolis, where they 
were assigned a room in the " Palace in the 
Wilderness," as the unfinished Capitol was 
then derisively styled by those who preferred 
New York or Philadelphia as the seat of gov- 

Mr. Otis, with his usual promptitude, pre- 
sented a report of his action on the first 
day of the next session, December 7, 1801, 
showiug that $2200 of the $5000 appropriated 
had been expended ; and it was referred to a 
new joint committee. The chairman was 
Senator Nicolas, of Virginia, who had served 
honorably in the war of the Revolution ; and 
associated with him were Senator Tracey, of 
Connecticut, a graduate of Yale College ; 
Representative James A. Bayard, of Dela- 
ware, who had graduated at Princeton Col- 
lege and studied law at Philadelphia; Rep- 
resentative Joseph Hox^per Nicholson, of 
Maryland, a lawyer of some distinction ; and 
Representative John Randolph, of Virginia, 
who was the erratic owner of a choice and 
well-used library at his estate on the Roa- 
noke River. This well-qualified committee 
doubtless felt the want of books to aid them 
in their legislative duties, as they reported 
to each House the next week. The report, 
which had been prepared by Mr. Randolph, 
was accompanied by a series of resolutions 
providing somewhat in detail for the estab- 
lishment of a library, under the charge of 
the Secretary of the Senate and the Clerk of 
the House of Representatives, who were to 
attend, in person or by deputy, each week- 
day during the session from 11 a.m. until 
3 P.M. An annual approjiriation was also 

This report gave rise to considerable de- 
bate in both Houses of Congress, the Dem- 
ocrats opposing any considerable appropria- 
tion for what would evidently become a 
national library, while the Federalists were 
more generously disposed; and one of them, 
the Rev. John Bacon, a Representative from 
Massachus(itts, actually advocated an annual 
appropriation of $10,000. So powerful was 
the opposition that it was found necessary 
to invoke the aid of President Jefferson, and 
through his influence the Democrats were 
induced to support a bill, drawn up by John 
Randolph, Avhich placed the library under 
the charge of a joint committee of Congress, 
l)ut provided that the librarian should be 
appointed by the President of the United 
States solely. This act of Congress Avas ap- 
proved by President Jefferson on the 2()th of 
January, 1802, and three days afterward he 
appointed as librarian his friend John Beck- 
ley, a Virginian, the Clerk of the House of 

Representatives. John M'Donald, a Phila- 
delphian, was an unsuccessful applicant for 
the position; and the Federalists in Congress 
were much disappointed, although not sur- 
prised, that Mr Otis had been ignored. The 
pay of the librarian, as fixed by the act, was 
" a sum not to exceed $2 per diem for every 
day of necessary attendance." 

The first catalogue of the Library of Con- 
gress was promptly issued by the newly ap- 
I)ointed librarian in April, 1802, from the 
press of William Duane. It embraced the 
titles of 212 folios, 164 quartos, 581 octavos, 
7 duodecimos, and 9 maps, which then con- 
stituted the only library of reference at the 
national metropolis. This was slowly in- 
creased in size by annual purchases made 
with the small available portion of the con- 
tingent funds of the two Houses of Congress, 
until 1806, when an urgent appeal for a lar- 
ger appropriation was made by Senator Sam- 
! uel Latham Mitchell, an accomplished phy- 
! sician of New York city. " Every member," 
I said he, in the conclusion of a report which 
j he made to the Senate, "knows that the iu- 
! quiries of standing and select committees 
can not here be aided by large public libra- 
ries, as in New York, Baltimore, and Phila- 
delphia. Nor has it hitherto appeared that 
so much benefit is to be derived from private 
collections at the present seat of government 
as in those large cities. Every week of the 
session causes additional regret that the 
volumes of literature and science Avithin the 
reach of the national legislature are not 
more rich and ample. The want of geo- 
graphical illustrations is truly distressing, 
and the deficiency of historical and political 
works is scarcely less severely felt. There 
is, however, no danger of realizing the story 
[ of a parliamentum indoctum in this country, 
especially if steps be seasonably taken to 
furnish the library with such materials as 
will enable statesmen to be correct in their 
investigations, and, by a becoming disi)lay 
of erudition and research, give a higher dig- 
I nity and a brighter lustre to truth." The 
result of this appeal was the appropriation 
of $1000 annually for fiA^e years for the in- 
crease of the Library of Congress. 

When Mr. Patrick Magruder, of Virginia, 
was elected Clerk of the House of Represent- 
atiA^es in 1807, as the successor of Mr. Beck- 
ley, President Jefierson commissioned him 
also as Librarian of Congress. The location 
of the library in the Capitol was changed 
j several times — once because the books Avere 
damaged by a leaky roof ; and but few new 
books could be purchased with the annual 
appropriation of $1000, which was continued 
in 1811 for tiAC vcars more. In the ab- 
sence of places of fashionable resort found 
in larger cities, the Library of Congress Avas 
a favorite place of rendezA'ous, Avhere stu- 
! dents, ])oliticians, diplomats, claimants, and 
I correspondents met on friendly terms ; Avhiie 



the ladies, with their accustomed good taste, 
made it the head-quarters of fashionable so- 

Chief Justice Marshall acknowledged in 
1812, with many thanks, the privilege of 
taking out hooks from the library, which 
Congress had then granted to the justices of 
the Supreme Court, and which he prized 
very highly. He liked to wait upon himself, 
rather than to be served by the librarian ; 
and one day, in taking a law-book from the 
upper shelf of an alcove, he pulled down a 
dozen ponderous tomes, one of which struck 
him on the forehead with such force that he 
fell prostrate. An assistant librarian, Avho 
hastened to the old gentleman's assistance, 
found him slightly stunned by the fall ; but 
he soon recovered, and declined to be aided 
to his feet, saying, with a merry twinkle in 
liis eye, " I've laid down the law out of the 
books many a time in my long life, but this 
is the lirst time they have laid me down. I 
am completely floored !" And he remained 
seated u})on the floor, surrounded by the 
books which he had pulled down, until he 
had found what he sought, and "made a 
note thereof." 

When the British army entered the me- 
tropolis of the United States in triumph, 
after the skirmish known as the " Bladens- 
burg Races," on the 24th of August, 1814, 
they first occupied the Capitol, the two 
wings of which only were finished, and con- 
nected by a wooden passage-way erected 
where the rotunda now stands. The head- 

ing officers entered the House of Represent- 
atives, where Admiral Cockburn of the Royal 
Navy (who was co-operating with General 
Ross), seating himself in the Speaker's chair, 
called the assemblage to order. " Gentle- 
men," shouted he, "the question is, Shall 
this harbor of Yankee democracy be burned? 
All in favor of burning it will say Aye !" 
There was a general affirmative response. 
And when he added, " Those opposed will 
say Nay," silence reigned for a moment. 
" Light up !" cried the bold Briton ; and the 
order was soon repeated in all parts of the 
building, while soldiers and sailors vied with 
each other in collecting combustible ma- 
terials for their incendiary fires. The books 
on the shelves of the Library of Congnjss 
were used as kindling for the north wing; 
and the much-admired full-length ])()rtraits 
of Louis XVI. and his queen, Marie Antoi- 
nette, which had been presented by that un- 
fortunate monarch to Congress, were torn 
from their frames and trami)led under foot. 
Patrick Magruder, then Clerk of th(! House 
of Representatives and Librarian of ('on- 
gress, sul)sequently endeavon^d to excusci 
himself for not having (iven attempted to 
save the books in his custody ; but it was 
shown that the books and papers of tlie de- 
partments were saved, and that the lilnary 
might have been removed to a ])lac(' of safety 
before the arrival of the JJi itisli Vainhils. 

Ex-President Jetrers()n,wlio was then liv- 
ing in retirement at Monticello, where theo- 
retical agricultural operations and other uu- 



successful busiuess experimeuts had serious- 
ly embarrassed his pecuniary affairs, profited 
by the opportunity thus offered for oT)tain- 
ing relief bydisposin<; of a large portion of 
his private library. Many of the most use- 
fnl books he retained until his death, when 
they were taken to Washington and there 
sold at public auction ; but the great bulk 
of the collection which he had made abroad 
and at home, numbering six thousand seven 
hundred volumes, he offered to Congress for 
$23,950. The Democratic Senators and Rep- 
resentatives gladly availed themselves of 
this opportunity for indirectly pensioning 
their political leader, and thus relieving him 
from pressing pecuniar}^ embarrassments. 
The Senate promptly passed the bill, but 
there was a decided opposition to it mani- 
fested in the House of Representatives by 
Daniel Webster and others. Mr. Cjtus King, 
of Massachusetts, vainly endeavored to have 
provision made for the rejection of all books 
of an atheistical, irreligious, and immoral 
tendency, but the purchase was ordered by 
that body by a vote of 81 ayes to 71 nays. 
When the library was brought in wagons to 
Washington the books were deposited in a 
room hastily provided for their reception in 
the hotel building temporarily occupied by 
Congress, which stood where the present 
Post-office Department was subsequently 
built. The collection was found to be espe- 
cially rich in Bibles and theological and phil- 
osophical works, but the most valuable por- 
tion was a series of volumes of pamphlets 

which Mr. Jefferson had collected and anno- 

Mr. Jefferson had arranged and catalogued 
his books on a plan borrowed from Bacon's 
classification of science, which was, at his 
request, adopted by Mr. George Watterson, 
who was then appointed librarian by Presi- 
dent Madison. There were in the catalogue 
made in accordance with this classification 
one hundred and seventy-five alphabets, ar- 
ranged in arbitrary sequence, and it required 
an intimate knowledge of the library to use 
it without great waste of time. Mr. Wat- 
terson was a native of Scotland, who had 
been brought to the metropolis when a lad, 
and who remembered having seen President 
Washington lay the corner-stone of the Cap- 
itol with Masonic honors. WTjen a young 
man he became a journalist, and a compli- 
mentary poem which he wrote and pub- 
lished having attracted the attention of 
Mrs. Madison, she became his patroness, and 
eventually secured his appointment as Libra- 
rian of Congress. While he graced the posi- 
tion, from 1815 to 1829, he wrote several 
pleasant local books, and he did much to- 
ward making the library a resort for the best- 
informed Congressmen, especially after he 
took possession of the new hall, which was 
where the library is now located. It was 
finished, in accordance with the Jeffersonian 
classification, with a row of alcoves on either 
side, over which two galleries were divided 
into corresponding sections, each alcove and 
section being devoted to books on a partic- 

LIGHT up!" 



ular subject. In 
these alcoves the 
belles of the capital 
used, on pleasant 
afternoons during 
the sessions of Con- 
gress, to hold their 
receptions and to 
receive the homage 
of their admirers. 
On one occasion, 
so it was said, 
a wealthy South- 
ern Representative, 
who was glean- 
ing materials for a 
speech in an up- 
per section, heard 
through the open- 
ing for the win- 
dow, which extend- 
ed into the alcove 
beneath, the well- 
known voice of his 
daughter, who was 
being persuaded by 
a penniless advent- 
urer to elope. The 
angry parent lost 
no time in going 
down stairs, calling 
the previous ques- 
tion, and postpon- 
ing the proposed 
action sine die. 

In December, 
1825, soon after the 
Library of Con- 
gress had been re- 
moved into its new 
hall, it narrowly es- 
caped destruction a second time by fire. A 
candle which had been left burning in one 
of the galleries by a gentleman who was 
reading there at a late hour the previous 
night was the probable origin of the fire, 
which ascended to the ceiling, consuming 
the books on several shelves. These, how- 
ever, were duplicate copies of public docu- 
ments, which had been used for filling up 
the vacant new sh(;lves, and no works of 
any value were destroyed. 

When General Jackson was elected Presi- 
dent, in 1829, and there was a general " rota- 
tion in office," it was alleged that Mr. Wat- 
terson had given circulation to scandalous 
stories concerning the late Mrs. Jackson, and 
he was promptly removed. His successor, 
Mr. .Jolin S. Median, was also an editor by 
Xirofession, and his services in bringing about 
the previous political revolution were thus 
rewarded. He was a good politician and a 
courteous gentleman, qualified for tlie posi- 
tion in those days, when the librarian iHii- 
ther asserted any prerogative nor exercis(;d 
any judgment in the selection of books. 


which was made by the joint committee of 
the two Houses of Congress. Governor 
Dickenson, of New Jersey, Edward Everett, 
and John Quincy Adams distinguished them- 
selves when members of the Library Com- 
mittee by their careful attention to this 
duty; but they could not make many valu- 
able acquisitions with the limited api)roj)ria- 
tions at their disposal, which varied from 
$500 to $1000 per annum, and out of which 
bills for book-binding had to be paid. 

A Law Library was establislied by an act 
of Congress, approved on the 14th of July, 
1832, by President Jackson, as a part of the 
Library of Congress. There were at tlial 
time 2011 law-books in the library, of which 
6:59 had belonged to Mr. Jiiflerson. A special 
ap})ropriation of $5000 was made, with a fur- 
ther annual sum of $1000, to be expended in 
the purchase of law-books, and a room ad- 
joining the Library of Congniss was fitted 
up for this new department, which was 
placed und<!r the supervision of the justices 
of tlx; Supreme Court. 

The Library of Congress, at the expiration 



of fifty years from its original orgauization, 
contaiued ouly about 50,000 volumes, and it 
was a matter of regret, publicly exjiressed in 
Congress, that tbere was not one branch of 
liberal study, even among those of greatest 
interest to our legislators, in which it was not 
miserably deficient. In international and 
civil law, home politics, natural history, and 
a few other departments the collection was 
tolerably good ; but there was a great lack 
of French and German literature, although 
these are the vernacular tongues of a large 
portion of our citizens. There were none 
of the numerous writers of the vast empire 
of Russia ; nothing of the curious literatures 
of Poland, of Hungary, or of Bohemia ; only 
the commonest books in Italian and in Span- 
ish ; and not a volume in the language of 
Portugal, rich as it is in various literature, 
and especially in the wild yet true romance 
of discovery and conquest that comes down 
to us through the pages of learned De Larros 
and quaint old Castanheda, ringing upon the 
ear and stirring the blood like the sound of 
a far-off trumpet. So, too, with our own lit- 
erature, especially the history of the North 
American Continent. The studious traveler 
from abroad, who had hoped to inspect at 
the seat of government correct sources of 
information respecting the early history of 
this republic of yesterday, found to his dis- 
appointment that he must go to New York 
city, or to Providence, Rhode Island, and 
there knock at private doors. 

Rufus Choate (then a Senator from Massa- 
chusetts), George P. Marsh (then a Repre- 
sentative from Vermont), and other promi- 
nent members of the Twenty-ninth Congress, 
aware of the barrenness of the Congressional 
Library, endeavored to secure the annual 
expenditure of not less than $20,000 of the 
income of the Smithsonian bequest for the 
formation of a library, which, for extent, 
completeness, and value, " should be worthy 
of the donor of the fund, and of the nation, 
and of this age." A law was enacted au- 
thorizing the Regents of the Smithsonian In- 
stitution to thus form a library, and Pro- 
fessor C. C. Jewett, who had paid great* at- 
tention to the subject, was engaged as the 
librarian ; but a majority of the regents 
subsequently decided to abandon the project, 
and to expend their entire income in scien- 
tific researches. This was a great disap- 
pointment to those who had advocated the 
creation of a national library, especially to 
Mr. Choate, who at once resigned his position 
as regent. The Smithsonian Institution, he 
said, " owes a great library to the capital of 
the New World ; something to be seen, pre- 
served, and to grow, into which shall be 
slowly, but surely and judiciously, gathered 
the best thoughts of all the civilizations." 

The Library of Congress av;is forced upon 
the attention of tlu; public by a third fire on 
the morning of December 25, 1851, which 

destroyed 35,000 volumes, about three-fifths 
of the entire collection. Nearly all the 
works of art which had graced the library 
were also destroyed, among them Stuart's 
portraits of the first five Presidents; original 
portraits of Columbus, Cort6z, Bolivar, Steu- 
ben, and Peyton Randolph ; busts of Jeffer- 
son, Lafayette, and Taylor; and upward of 
eleven hundred bronze medals which had 
been received from Europe through Vatte- 
mare's system of international exchanges. 

Congress, which was in session, at once 
made liberal appropriations for reconstruct- 
ing the library, which was erected entirely 
of cast iron, and consequently fire -proof. 
This is now the main room of the librarv, 
and it is ninety-one feet long, thirty-four 
feet wide, and thirty-four feet high, with 
three stories of iron book-cases on either 
side. On the lower story are alcoves nine 
feet wide, nine feet six inches high, and eight 
feet six inches deep, with seven shelves on 
each side and at the back. On the second 
story are similar alcoves, excepting that their 
projection is but five feet, which leaA^es a 
gallery resting on the fronts of the alcoves be- 
neath three feet six inches in width. A simi- 
lar platform is constructed on the alcoves of 
the second story, forming a gallery to ap- 
proach the upper book-cases, thus making 
three stories, receding as they ascend. These 
galleries, which are continued across the ends 
of the hall, are j)rotected by pedestals and 
railings, and are approached by semicircu- 
lar staircases, also of cast iron, recessed in 
the end walls. The ceiling is wholly com- 
posed of iron and glass, and is embellished 
with ornate panels and foliated pendants. 
The pilasters which divide the alcoves are 
tastefully ornamented, and the whole is 
painted a delicate cream-color, relieved by 
gilding. The main entrance is from a pas- 
sage-way opening from the western door of 
the rotunda, on the same level. 

Before this magnificent hall had been 
completed Congress appropriated $75,000, 
with the continuance of an annual sum of 
$5000, for the purchase of books, so that the 
library was superior to what it had been 
before the last fire, when it rose, jihenix- 
like, from its ashes. But the purchases 
were made on the old plan, under the direc- 
tion of the joint committee on the library, 
the chairman of which then, and for sev- 
eral previous and subsequent sessions, was 
Senator Pearce, of Maryland, a graduate of 
Princeton College. There was not in the 
Library of Congress a modern encyclopedia, 
or a file of a New York daily newspaper, or 
of any newspaper except the venerable dai- 
ly National InteU'u/encer ; while De Bow^s Re- 
view was the only American magazine taken, 
although the London Court Journal was reg- 
ularly received, and bound at the close of 
each successive year. All literature not in 
accordance with the conservative construc- 




tioii of the Constitution was excluded, and 
the library was only useful to those emi- 
nently respectable Congressmen who sat in 
the stern of the ship of state complacently 
watching the track which it had left in the 
political waters as it passed along, and ap- 
parently never dreaming of the breakers 
ahead ! 

The new library hall was ready for occu- 
pation on the 1st of July, 1853, and the books 
were again arranged in accordance with the 
ponderous Jeffersonian classification. The 
Law Library had meanwhile been removed 
to a suit of rooms in the basement story of 
the north wing, and a liberal annual appro- 
priation of !|ilO,000 was rapidly making it 
the most complete collection of legal lore in 
the world. Its special custodian, Mr. C. H. 
W. Meehan, a son of the then librarian, had 
been in charge of the law department since 
1835, and was intrusted with the choic(i of 
books j)urchased — a well-merited recogni- 
tion of his ability and thorough acquaint- 
ance with this department of literature, in- 
dorsed by his retention in office. 

In December, 1860, the Law Library was 
removed into the basement room formerly 
occupied by the Supreme Court, semicircu- 
lar in form, with a massive groined arched 
ceiling, resting u])on short Doric colunuis. 
A 8cu]})tured group on tlie wall, represent- 
ing Fame crowned with the rising sun and 
pointing to the Constitution, while Jnstice 
holds her scales, recalls the j)reviou8 occu- 

pancy of the room, where Webster, Clay, 
Wirt, and others "learned in the law" used 
to argue great constitutional questions be- 
fore the highest tribunal in the land. The 
librarian's mahogany desk, of semicircular 
form, with faded green brocade hangings, 
formerly graced the Senate -chamber, and 
behind it })resided the successive Vice-Presi- 
dents, and Presidents of the Senate jp?'0 tmi., 
from 1825 to 1860. 

On the shelves of the book-cases which 
project from the semicircular wall, conver- 
ging toward an o])posite centre, and forming 
alcoves, is now the most complete law libra- 
ry in the world. Lincoln's Inn library con- 
tains a larger number of books, but two- 
thirds of them are works on miscellaneous 
subjects, and although the library of Halle, 
in Germany, and the Advocates' Library at 
Edinburgh are rich in ancient law, neither 
of them has been kept up: indeed, the lat- 
ter was recently offered for sale. In the 
Law Library of Congress are every volnme 
of English, Irish, and Scotch reports, as well 
as the American ; a coi)ious collection of case 
law ; and a comphite collection ol' the stat- 
utes of all civilized governments, including 
those of Russia since 1640, which fill a])()ut 
one hundred ([uarto volumes. Thrre arc 
also many curious law-books, inclndiiig the 
first edition of Hlackstone's Coninirnfaiii's, 
and an original edition of the- n-ixtrt ol' the 
trial of Cagliostro, Rolian, and La Motto 
for the theft of Marie Antoinette's diamond 



necklace. All the books are bound in calf 
or slieei), of that " nndei done pie-cnist color" 
in which Charles Dickens de8cril)ed a law- 
yer's library as dressed, and th(\y are nuich 
used by the eminent legal gentlemen who 
come to Washington to practice in the Su- 
preme Court. 

When, in 1861, Abraham Lincoln was in- 
augui ated Pnisideiit of the United States, 
Mr. Meehan, Sen., was in his turn "rotated," 
and the place of Librarian of Congress was 
given to Dr. John G. Stephenson, of Indi- 
ana, "who had no especial qualification ex- 
cept that he belonged to the winning side. 
Fortunately for the interests of the library, 
Dr. Stephenson appointed as his first assist- 
ant Ainsworth R,. Spotford, Esq., who had 
been connected with the press of Cincinnati, 
and who was practically acquainted with 
books and the book trade. In December, 
1864, Dr. Stephenson resigned, and Presi- 
dent Lincoln appointed Mr. Spotford libra- 
rian, a position for which he w^as eminently 
qualified, and the Library of Congress has 
since borne testimouy^ to his varied knowl- 
edge, to his untiring industry, and to his 
never -failing courtesy. The Jeffersonian 
system of classification was abandoned as 
unsuited to the necessities of readers con- 
sulting a large library, and a new catalogue 
of the books, arranged alphabetically under 
the head of authors, was issued, followed by 
another catalogue, arranged according to 
subjects. Congressmen now, finding that 
the library was of practical use to them, 
voted liberal appropriations for its enlarge- 
ment, and the books which had been col- 
lected by the Smithsonian Institution — 
numbering some 40,000 volumes in all — 
found a resting-place on its shelves, reliev- 
ing the regents of the expense of caring 
for them. The library of Peter Force, pur- 
chased of him for $100,000, was a more val- 
uable acquisition, embracing some 45,000 
separate titles, among which were many 
valuable works on early American history, 
with maps, newspapers, pamphlets, and j 
manuscripts illustrating the colonial and 
revolutionary epochs. 

To accommodate these large additions to 
the library two new^ halls were added, ex- 
tending eastward from the north and south 
ends of the main hall (already described), 
and forming three sides of a square. These 
additionul halls, which are also constructed 
entirely of iron, are each ninety-five feet in 
length, twenty-nine feet six inches in width, 
and thirty-eight feet high, which are so 
nearly the dnnensions of the main hall that 
the difference is not noticed, although they 
have each an additional tier of galleries. 

In the south wing are the treasures of the 
Force collection, now being catalogued and 
classified, and partly piled up in stacks. 
There are nearly 1000 volumes of American 
newspapers, including 245 printed prior to | 

1800 ; a large collection of the journals aiul 
laws of the colonial Assemblies, showing the 
legislative policy which culminated in their 
independence ; the highly prized publica- 
tions of the presses of the Bradfords, Benja- 
min Franklin, and Isaiah Thomas ; forty-one 
different works of Increase and Cotton Ma- 
ther, printed at Cambridge aiul Boston, from 
1671 to 1735 ; a perfect copy of that rarest 
of American books, Eliot's Indian Bible; 
and a large and valuable collection of " in- 
cunabula," illustrating the progress of the 
art of printing from its infancy. The manu- 
scripts are even more valuable than the 
printed books, including two autograph jour- 
nals of George Washington — one dated 1775, 
during Braddock's expedition, and one in 
1787, at Mount Vernon ; two volumes of an 
original military journal of Major-General 
Greene, 1781-82 ; twelve folio volumes of the 
papers of Paul Jones while commanding 
American cruisers in 1776-78 ; a private 
journal left by Arthur Lee while minister to 
France in 1776-77 ; thii ty or forty orderly 
books of the Revolution ; forty-eight vol- 
umes of historical autograj)hs of great rarity 
and interest ; and an immense mass of 
manuscript materials for the "American Ar- 
chives" — a documentary history of America, 
the publication of which was commenced by 
order of Congress. The only cause for regret 
connected with this wing of the library, 
where the literary treasures collected by 
Peter Force are enshrined, is that his life 
could not have been spared long enough to 
have seen his beloved collection so well 
cared for by the republic. 

In the north wing are the illustrated 
works and collections of engravings, which 
always attract visitors, who can sit at the 
tables there provided for their accommoda- 
tion and enjoy the reproductions of the 
choicest art treasures of the Old World. In 
the upper gallery of this wing are bound 
copies of the periodicals of all nations, em- 
bracing complete series of the leading maga- 
zines of Great Britain and of the United 
States. An adjacent attic hall is devoted to 
the collection of newspapers — those reposi- 
tories of general information which had been 
ignored prior to the administration of Mr. 
Spofford, but to Avhich he has paid especial 
attention. Among the unbroken files are 
those of the New York Evening Post from the 
issue of its first number in 1801, the London 
Gazette from 1665, the French Alonitenr (roy- 
al, imperial, and republican) from 1789, the 
London Times, and the London lUnstmtecl 
News. The prominent daily j(uirnals of New 
York are now regularly filed, ami bound at 
the close of each year, and there is a com- 
plete set of all the ne^^ spapers w'hich have 
been published in the District of Columbia, 
including over one hundred which no longer 

A rigid enforcement of that provision of the 


copyright law wliicli makes it obligatory to 
deposit ill the library a copy of every ^York 
''eutered accordiiig to act of Congress/' se- 
cures a complete collection of American 
publications, which could not be otherwise 
obtained. These copyright books are of in- 
creasing importance, extent, and value, and 
will constitute a curious record of the growth 
and style of our national literature. There 
is, of course, a complete collection of all the 
varied publications of the Federal govern- 
ment, and by law fifty additional copies of 
each work are printed for the Library of Con- 
gress, to be used in a well-regulated system 
of international exchanges, which brings in 
return the valuable public documents of other 
nations. Liberal appropriations are annually 
made by Congress for the purchase of books 
and newspapers, while the large amount of 
binding required is executed at the govern- 
ment printing-office without taxing the funds 
of the library. The annual appropriations — 
after provision has been made for the foreign 
and domestic serials, and for the most impor- 
tant issues of the press abroad in jurispru- 
dence, political economy, history, and allied 
topics — are distributed in the purchase of 
books in all departments of literature and 
science, no general topic being neglected, 
although as yet none can be assumed as 
being complete. To that end auction lists 
and trade catalogues are assiduously read 
and profited by, and especial attention is 
paid to the collections of dealers in second- 
hand books — those purveyors for good li- 

The Library of Congress is thus beginning 
to assume national proportions, and is rapidly 
gaining on the government libraries at Paris 
and at London, while it is made more prac- 
tically useful than any other great library 
in the world by the annual issue of a printed 
catalogue of its accessions. With this cata- 
logue — arranged alphabetically by authors 
and again by subjects — it is an easy task for 
the frequenters of the library to obtain books 
on any subject desired, especially when they 
can obtain the further aid of the accomplished 
librarian and his willing assistants. Tlie prac- 
tical result is shown by the register of books 
taken from the library by those enjoying 
that privilege. Fifteen years ago not more 
than three out of five Congressmen used the 
library ; now nine out of ten take out books, 
some having over a hundred volumes during 
a session. Nor can any one visit tlie library 
at any time when its doors are open Avith- 
out finding from ton to fifty citizens seated 
at the reading-tables, where all can peruse 
such books as they may request to have 
brought to them from the shelves. The 
library is thus tlirown open to any one and 
every one, without any formality of admis- 
eion or any restriction, except that slight 
barriers exclude the visitors from tlic book- 
shelves, and prevent them from taking down 
Vou XLVI._No. 271.— 4 


the books without the knowledge of the 

Bibliophilists find on the shelves of the 
Library of Congress much that they regard 
as j)i'ecious, although the profane call it 
trash, in the shape of formidable folios ex- 
quisitely printed by the Elzevirs, or the 
small Aldus editions of classical autliors, 
easily carried in the capacious pockets of 
students of the old school. Many of these 
antique books, like the dowagers and the 
spinsters who grace the wall-seats of a ball- 
room, will gratefully repay a little attention 
from the student, and will convince him 
that in literature, as in agriculture, "the 
new grain cometh up from the old fields." 
The ashes of Wyclitfe were scattered to the 
winds, but despotic bigotry could not de- 
stroy Wycliffe's Bible. Homer's birth-place 
and his burial-jilace are unknown, but nu- 
merous editions of his Iliad delight and 
interest our heroes and our lovers. Our 
legislators ponder over the patriotic senti- 
ments of Sidney, our j)oets read Tasso and 
Dante, our scholars revel in the writings of 
Moliere and Cervantes, and our statesmen, 
in studying the noble diction of Bacon, draw 
" from the well of pure English undefiled." 
Indeed, the Library of Congress, with its two 
hundred thousand volumes, may well be 
compared to the island of Delos, where the 
ancient Greeks and their neighbors used to 
meet in peace, forget foreign and domestic 
strife, and harmoniously join in festivities — 
for it is the neutral ground of the national 
metropolis, where learning is domesticated, 
and where studious men and women can 
meet, undisturbed by the noisy clamor of 
mercenary politicians. 

On the western side of the main library 
hall is a lofty colonnade, from the balcony of 
which the weary student or the curious visit- 
or can enjoy a panorama which has all the 
elements of grandeur and loveliness. Below 
the spectator are the Capitol grounds, with 
their trees, parterres of flowers, and fount- 
ains ; while beyond them, directly in front, 
stretches the public reservation, reaching a 
mile and a half to the jilacid Potomac, and 
adorned with the government conservato- 
ries, the picturesque Smithsonian Institu- 
tion, the Agricultural Department with its 
terraced gardens, and the unfinished Wash- 
ington Monument. Broad avenues radiate 
in different directions — Virginia Avenue go- 
ing to the left until it joins tlie Long Bi idge, 
leading into the Old Dominion, while inclin- 
ing to the right at a similar angle is Penn- 
sylvania Avenue, the main artery of tlio 
metropolis, leading to the Executive Man- 
sion, with its surrounding dcpMrtmrnts. 
Shade trees mark tlic lines of streets, which 
cross each other at right angles, and throngli 
which the avenues pass at all sorts of angles, 
wliile the monotony of liouse-roofs is varied 
by imposing public buildings, churches, and 



school-houses, with here and there a park. 
The broad Potomac, generally studded with 
sails, winds its way from antique George- 
town on the distant right, down past Wash- 
ington, to sombre Alexandria, far off on the 
left ; while on the distant Virginia bank rise 
the verdant slopes of Arlington Heights, with 
a background of wooded hills reaching to the 
horizon. After enjoying this scene, which 
possesses all the elements of picturesque 
beauty as well as of metropolitan grandeur, | 
one can turn back into the library with a i 
fresh zest for its treasures, and feel that in i 
fostering so well-managed and so useful an 
institution, "beautiful for situation," our 
national legislators are obeying the consti- 
tutional injunction to promote the general 


To the Rev. Mr. Flemyng, M.A., this Southeast View 
of his School z« Ashwood, near Mildon, erected 
A.B. 1770, in Gloriam Dei Opt. Max. in Ufum Ec- 
clefiae & Reipublicas, is Respectfully Inscribed by his 
Didiful Servattt. Geo. Marwood. 

THIS is the inscription under a quaint 
old print which, keeping its dingy frame 
of black wood, hangs above the book-case in 
my bedroom. It is the ugliest picture pos- 
sible : the house, drawn in careful perspec- 
tive, stands grimly forward without a pro- 
jection about roof or window, except a lit- 
tle attempt at a porch over the door on the 
east side ; there are six windows on the 
ground-floor of the south front, six windows 
on the first floor, and above these twelve 
smaller ones in a row, evidently dormitories, 
cold, hot, staring, unbeautiful, unsuggestive. 
A large walled inclosure, half garden and 
half paddock, runs down the eastern side ; 
the garden has a round bed in its centre and 
seven or eight square beds on either side, 
pointed at intervals with Irish yews, and set 
in gravel instead of turf. There is a man in 
a three-cornered hat vaguely walking in the 
garden, and a serving-man holding a horse 
in the paddock beyond ; while on the south 
side is a kind of pleached alley with a dou- 
ble row of sycamore-trees, odd little groups 
of boys with long hair and long coats and 
long waistcoats, frilled collars and knee- 
breeches, strolling about beneath them, and 
two grave divines walking sedately toward 
you on the extreme left. That is my picture. 
And for all its grayness and its ugliness 
and its stiff lines, I sit and look at it some- 
times until a change creeps over all. I hear 
happy summer sounds, chirping of birds, the 
hum of tiny insects, the sweep of the scythe, 
boys' voices. I see sweet flowers in the ugly 
stiff beds, tender shadows under the flicker- 
ing sycamores, and, above all, I see Dorothy 
Flemyng, with her bright, flashing, sunny 
face, with her soft dress of dainty muslin, 
with her little delicious old-fashioned great- 

grandmotherly air, flying out of the garden 
door to meet her father. 

Young Sir J asper Harrington always would 
have it that she was like a robin, and per- 
haps he could not have found an apter si- 
militude, there was something so pretty, so 
confiding, and yet so spirited about the lit- 
tle thing. Every one was fond of her. Ev- 
ery thing that was weak, or frightened, or 
hurt seemed to take refuge with her and ex- 
pect her to do battle for them. It was not 
a little ridiculous to imagine her. your cham- 
pion, and yet you might have had a worse 
one. There was something in her daring 
which, from such a mite, was irresistible. 
Once when a great roistering fellow was ill- 
treating a horse, Dorothy ran up to him with 
her face all ablaze and fairly shamed him by 
her passionate indignation ; he went away 
mumbling out something like an excuse, at 
all events in a different tone from the oaths 
and curses he had been letting fly. Dorothy 
remained triumphant, and then suddenly be- 
gan to tremble, and went home looking pale 
and scared. 

" How wicked those men are !" she said, 
with a sort of sob in her voice, laying her 
little brown head upon ]\Irs. Harriot's shoul- 

"What has happened, niece?" said the 
old lady, a wistful look of troul)le creeping 
into her faded eyes. " Is it any thing more 
that they want to do to poor Austin ? Be- 
cause then we had better go away, he 
and 1." 

Dorothy put up her little hands and drew 
the tender, troubled old face down to her 
own, kissing it. 

"Now you are fancying things," she said, 
half chidingly, half protectingly ; " and, to 
be sure, I had no business to make you sad. 
Has Molly told you that the roses are ready 
for the pot-pourri ? Come and see whether 
she has put cloves enough." 

And so the two went up the narrow stair- 
case together, a tall stooping elderly wom- 
an, and this little alert eager creature, with 
hair and eyes of bright warm russet-brown, 
who could defend dumb animals, and sup- 
port poor Mrs. Harriot's failing age, and keep 
the house, and teach the little boys, and be 
altogether brave and dauntless, and yet 
would color crimson and look beseechingly 
if Sir Jasper Harrington did but stop them 
in the road, and jump off his horse to wish 
good-day. It was a strange little household 
this school of Mr. Flemyng's, which might 
rather have been called Dorothy's kingdom, 
since here, as in other instances one could 
name, they were not the nominal heads that 
i ruled. Brother and sister Avere alike, tall, 
I gentle, listless people — unready would per- 
j haps be the best word to use — yet with a 
: certain sweet dignity, a transparent simplic- 
ity, a trustfulness as beautiful as a child's, 
1 and the shadow of a great trouble which 




they had shared together. It has nothing 
to do with this story, and we need not sad- 
den ourselves with talking of it ; but per- 
haps it was this which had brought a cloud 
half piteous but altogether merciful over 
Mrs. Harriot Foster's old age, like one of 
those soft autumnal mists which creep up- 
ward at the close of day, and soften but do 
not mar the landscape. 

Why Mr. Flemyng ever thought of becom- 
ing a school-master it is impossible to say, 
for never was a man more absolutely unfit- 
ted for the task. The greatest dullard among 
the boys could have read off his lessons un- 
der his very eyes without fear of discovery ; 
and as for punishments, at a time when 
birchen rods ruled young lives they were 
utterly abhorrent to his nature. It was not 
to be expected but that these little long- 
coated, big-collared grandfathers of ours 
should take advantage of such peculiarities, 
but yet this may be said for them, that on 
the whole there was a fine, high-spirited, 
honorable tone about the little fellows. It 
was considered sneaking and mean to trade 
upon Mr. Flemyng's gentle trustfulness ; so 
that if they did not gain much else at the 
school, here was something not to be de- 
spised, and it was chiefly owing to Dorothy's 
influence. They worshiped her. They would 
fight battles in her honor, only the difficulty 
was to find an enemy ; a black eye gained in 
such a cause was a distinction at which all 
the others gazed enviously. It was little 
Marwood, whose father drew that picture, 
and composed the flourishing inscription 
about the church and state, etc., altogether 
out of gratitude for Dorothy's care of his 
little motherless, timid lad. It was Master 
Stephen Harrington, who, being left one 
holiday time in her charge, was nursed by 
her through some childish disorder, and 
talked about her afterward until my lady 
sent for her to the Grange to thank her. 
Dorothy went to the Grange several times 
after that, and young Sir Jasper, who at first 
only looked at her brown eyes a little curi- 
ously, began to find a strange sort of pleas- 
ure in making those brown eyes flash or 
droop as he liked. What odd, similar, con- 
tradictory, like-minded creatures we are! 
How century after century, generation aft- 
er generation, we go on crowned with bob- 
wigs, perukes, cropped curls, cavalier locks, 
horned caps, shock heads, Roman helmets, 
Greek fillets, Syrian turbans, as the case 
may be, all at the same game ; one after an- 
other going through the same little throbs 
and jumps, the same experiences and hopes 
and fears and disappointments! Do you 
not know that when Socrates opened his 
heart to Xantippe he held her hand and 
looked into her eyes, and felt his great 
strong soul rejoice when she lifted them 
shyly to his, never seeing, poor foolish phi- 
losopher, the flash which lurked behind the i 

soft veil? And here is young Sir Jasper 
Harrington, in sober, industrial England, be- 
ginning the same little play as then made 
the Athenian groves glow with a deeper 
beauty when the sun sent golden shafts into 
their cool shades ; walking up his great 
lime avenues, switching his riding-whip, 
and wondering what the plague there was 
in Dorothy Flemyng's face which made it 
worth all the fine ladies that came to the 
Grange. The old, new story ; always, and 
yet, after all, never the same. 

Ah, and there are other things as new — as 
old. About Socrates's wooing we do not 
know much. Xantippe gave him trouble 
enough in after-days for one to suppose that 
every thing went smoothly at first, that 
there were no obdurate jjarents, no money- 
seeking guardians. But what of poor Hero 
and her Leander, separated from her by 
those devouring waves? What of Romeo 
and Juliet, Montagues and Capulets? and 
Tasso and Leonora ? and sweet Duchess May, 
riding to death with her Sir Guy, while 
thin -lipped Lord Leigh battered at the 
gates ? What of all these, and what of 
Lady Harrington at the Grange, with her 
old Bruce blood, and the Harrington sup- 
porters, and the grim men in armor, ranged 
round the hall? My poor little Dorothy, 
what of her? Why, all the world knew 
that there was no one so suitable for Sir 
Jasper to marry as Miss Montagu, the heir- 
ess, whose lands touched his own. Or if he 
were obstinate and would not have her, my 
lady had a host in reserve — Lady Mary Ben- 
tinck, daughter of the old Tory earl; Sir 
Charles Bassett's eldest girl, Charlotte ; ei- 
ther one of the Misses Fitz-Aubyn; Lady 
Di Riverstone — oh, Dorothy, Dorothy, why 
were you walking back ftom the village 
that evening in May ! 

She saw him coming while he was yet at 
some distance. She was in a lane with bor- 
dering turf, and dewy hedge-rows fragrant 
with hawthorn, and delicate opening flow- 
ers, and yellow -green oak-trees growing 
bravely up on either side. Just in front of 
her stretched a picturesque bit of broken 
common, and there in the open — the low 
sun throwing long slanting shadows on 
the gorse, the blue distant hills for a back- 
ground, the breeze stirring the grass — Jas- 
per Harrington was riding slowly toward 
her. Of whom was he thinking ? Lady Di ? 
Philippa Fitz-Aubyn ? Perhaps George Sel- 
wyn's latest jest, or the American war, or 
the last balloon excitement, or, more likely, 
his new young setter Juno. At all events, 
on he came, with his reins on liis horse's 
neck, and the sun shining kindly upon him, 
and the breeze lifting his hair, and Dorothy, 
who, every now and ithen, was seized with 
a terrible fit of bashfuluess, looked round 
longingly for a possibility of escape. There 
was not so much as a gap in the hedge, and 



she could not turn aud run when he might 
aheady liave seen her as she had seen him ; 
and hesides all this, she could have beaten 
herself for the dread which was half pain- 
ful and half delicious, hut as yet altogether 
mysterious to the young girl. So they came 
on toward each other, he passing out of the 
sunshiny open into the quiet dewy shade 
of the young trees, still riding carelessly, 
with his three-cornered hat, and his riding- 
coat of claret-colored cloth, and his hair tied 
behind by a black ribbon, little Dorothy 
walking swiftly in her soft girlish dress, 
some sort of pearly tint relieved by the 
gleaming grass behind her, and by a kind 
of black scarf which crossed in front and 
tied at the back in a great bow. Her large 
hat shaded her face. "Perhaps, after all, 
he will not see me," she thought, with a 
thrill of hope and disappointment, for Sir 
Jasper was looking down, and her step 
upon the turf was noiseless. Not see her ? 
There are other jierceptions than seeing and 
hearing, which come into play on some oc- 
casions. Before Dorothy had time to think, 
Jasper was off his horse, standing, hat in 
hand, with his honest blue eyes looking into 

" This is good fortune. Miss Flemyng," he 
said, eagerly. "Were you going to the 
Grange ? Will you allow me to escort you ?" 

Dorothy, who had made him a little de- 
mure courtesy, shook her head. " I am only 
going round by the farm. Sir. I hope my 
lady is quite well ?" she said, with an effort, 
thinking that now surely he had shown all 
the necessary courtesy, and would let her 
go on her way. She was dismayed to see 
him pass the bridle round his arm, turn his 
horse's head, and, still holding his hat in 
his hand, prepare to walk by her side along 
the road he had just come ; but when she 
glanced in his face to remonstrate, she with- 
drew her eyes, coloring brightly, and walked 
on as quickly as she could, without a word. 

"I wanted to speak to you about Ste- 
l^hen," said Jasper. 

Dorothy slackened her pace a little. If 
this was his object in joining her, there was 
a legitimate reason in it. 

" Your father has done so much for him." 

"He is improving vastly in his Latin," 
she said, with a grave air of business, which 
enchanted Jasper. 

" So we find. Our cousin Parker has been 
staying at the Grange, and my mother asked 
him to examine Stephen: 'twas rather an 
ordeal, poor little lad, but he came out tri- 
umphantly — I never saw my mother so 
pleased — and he said 'twas all owing to 
Miss Flemvng." 

" Oh no, no," she interrupted. " But I am 
80 glad ; it will give him confidence. Thank 
you for telling me of it, Sir." 

"I — we — owe Miss Flemyng still more," 
he went on, quickly, with a good deal of 

feeliug in his tone. " Poor little Stephen ! 
I don't think my mother, in spite of her 
fondness, ever took the right line with him. 
'Twas a chance whether he would not grow 
up a poor, puny little fellow without the 
spirit of a mouse. Every thing seemed to 
scare him until he was sent to you — to your 
father," said Jasjier, correcting himself with 
great proimety. 

"And now?" Dorothy asked, looking up 
with a smile on the rosiest lips in the world. 

" Oh, now — now he is a hero. He shall 
ride after the hounds with me next winter. 
Only this morning he jumped the sunk fence 
on Rattler. How is it ? Your father does 
not teach fox-hunting with declensions, does 
he ? Nor yet fighting ? Because yesterday 
Stephen came home with a black eye which 
it did one good to see. It seems 'twas a 
fight with young Bassett, whom he met on 
his way home, and quite vanquished. The 
cause of battle — " 

" This is the road to the farm," interrupt- 
ed Dorothy, desperately. She knew the 
cause of battle as well as Jasper, and the 
scarlet color flashed into her cheek at his 
mischievous words. "This is the road to 
the farm ; I will wish you good-evening, 
Sir ;" and she dropped another little courtesy, 
and was turning away when he stopped her. 
Oh, Jasper! There were Miss Montagu's 
woods lying in the distance before his very 
eyes, soft, rounded masses, purple with even- 
ing lights — a wild bit of moor, the envy of 
all the neighboring squires as the best wood- 
cock cover in the . county ; there was Miss 
Montagu herseK at this very moment at the 
Grange, taking a dish of tea with my lady, 
in her silk slip of tawny orange, just suiting 
her dark complexion, and her powdered hair 
drawn high over a cushion — the very dress 
in which the court painter pictured her — 
she and her woods and her covers for Jasper 
to put out his hand and take, and instead 
of this, he put out his hand and stoj^ped 
poor little Dorothy Flemyng, the school- 
master's daughter. 

"Dorothy," he said, "Dorothy, I never 
loved Stephen so well as when he told me 

"Let me go. Sir; let me go!" she cried, 
struggling with herself, for he was not hold- 
ing her except by a hand laid very lightly 
on her arm ; and when she said this he diew 
it back, and stood before her as if she had 
been a queen, his hat in his hand, looking a 
very gallant gentleman indeed, with the 
sun shining on his face, and his eyes shining 
more brightly than the sun on her. 

" I can't go ; 'tis impossible," he said. " I 
love you so dearly I must speak and say so. 
Won't you love me? Won't you be my 
wife ? Why should it frighten you ? My 
life, sure you are not afraid of me ?" 

Of him ? No ! But of herself, of the ten- 
derness in his voice. Ah! and he knew it; 



lie read it in the one glance she dared ven- 
ture. His eyes grew triumphant, his voice 

"One little word — that is all. What, 
won't Miss Flemyug take so much pity upon 
a poor fellow as to tell me at least I do not 
displease her he said, troubled again ; for 
she had turned her back and was wringiug 
her hands with a kind of childish impa- 
tience. And then she flashed round upon 
him impetuously. 

" How can you be so cruel ?" she cried, 
passionately, her eyes full of burniug tears. 

"Cruel? I!" 

" Yes, you ! Do you suppose that my lady 
will take me for a daughter ? that I, poor 
Dorothy Flemyng. Stephen's teacher, am a 
fit wife for Sir Jasper Harringtou, the fine 
gentleman at the Grange ?" 

Sir Jasper interrupted her hotly, jerking 
his horse's bridle as he spcke. "Because 
you are poor, madam ? Fie upon it ! I have 
heard my mother say that Mr. Flemyng's 
family is as good as any round." 

She shook her head sadly. 

" What do I care for it all ?" he said, ea- 
gerly, clasping her hand in his. " Only say 
you love me, and set my heart at rest." 

The fire had gone out of her eyes ; she let 
her hand remain, and looked at him with a 
certain sweet, sorrowful dignity new to her. 
" Will that content you ?" she asked. " Well, 
then, I do not deny it. No, no ; wait un- 
til you have heard me out. For see you 
here. Sir Jasper," she went on with a trem- 
bling voice, but standing erect and looking 
straight in his face, " to pleasure you I have 
let you know what I thought death itself 
should never draw from me — you are a true 
gentleman, Sir, and I do not repent — but 
here it ends. Do you not suppose but that 
I know as well as Lady Harrington at the 
Grange that I am no match for her son? 
And do you not suppose that we Flemyngs 
have our pride also, and that I could not 
bear even to hear her say this to me ?" 

Jasi)er interrupted her again, and as he 
spoke he bent low over her hand and kissed 
it with the beautiful courtly grace of the 
time. " She never shall," he said. 

"You don't know," cried poor Dorothy, 
still fighting valiantly against her own 
heart. It was very hard to resist him when 
he looked like that, and when all her soul 
seemed to cry out on his side. Surely there 
had never been so hard a struggle for a i)oor 
girl as this. And just then a nightingale 
began her pathetic song in a little brake 
close by. "You don't know, you don't 
know," she repeated, imploringly. 

" I know that I shall never change — nor 
you," said Jasper, softly. " My mother loves 
me too well to cross my happiness." 

"Oh, 'tis impossible !" 

" Only trust me." 

But he could gain no more. She loved 

him, she confessed, but they must not meet, 
nor should he come to the school unless it 
was with Lady Harrington's consent to ask 
her of her father. She would not even let 
him turn down the little lane with her, al- 
though he chafed a little at the refusal. He 
stood watching the dainty little figure going 
down the lane through the shadowy evening 
lights, with a step not so firm as usual, a 
little hesitating, a little shaken, for all her 
brave words. " She wants me to take care 
of her, my darling," said the young man to 
himself, with a glad, triumphant gleam in 
his eyes, as he mounted his horse and rode 
away again home. Miss Montagu's woods 
grew dim and dusky in the twilight, and 
Miss Montagu herself rumbled by in her 
great chariot, and sighed a little as she 
caught a glimpse of Sir Jasper riding home 
as she came away, with a smile on his face 
which even the twilight could not hide from 

As for him, he had forgotten her before 
she was out of sight. Just at present he 
held something in his heart which sent all 
possibilities, anxieties, every thing but the 
bright present, out of mind. Twenty-four, 
in love, and beloved! Is there any magic 
like this ? A few years later a hundred 
wiser thoughts would have come to him, but 
no such perfection of ecstatic bliss. Doro- 
thy, younger in years, was older in her wom- 
anhood, and in a sadder experience of life. 
She was going home troubled and happy at 
once, while Jasper's dreams were not cloud- 
ed by any such contradictions. He had had 
his way from his boyhood, and do you think 
a barrier could spring up now ? Oh, foolish 
prophets, when from the days of fairy tales 
was any thing impossible to princes in love ? 

Almost every one has seen the Grange, or 
some place like it. One of those beautiful, 
old, gray, tenderly tinted houses, lying a lit- 
tle low, with two magnificent lime avenues 
leading to it, and curved sweeps of turf 
stretching away from the front. It had been 
a long time in the family, and out of it, too, 
once or twice ; for the Harringtons, like oth- 
ers, had their ups and downs. Nor could it 
be said to be very firmly fixed in the family 
now ; for it had only been brought back by 
Sir Charles's marriage with Miss Bruce, the 
present Lady Harrington, and there had been 
a little soreness about her father's determi- 
nation that it should be settled unreserved- 
ly upon her. Watched and waited for for a 
generation or two, this half possession was 
galling. Women are unstable creatures, 
whom a little pique, a little flattery, will in- 
fluence. " Your madam may upset tli3 coach 
again," said the old grandfather, in a fume. 
Nevertheless, Colonel Bruce would hear no 
other terms, and here was L;idy Harrington 
reigning at the Grange, and all the world 
feeling comfortably assured that Sir Jasper 



■would reign after her, and a strict entail 
once more guard their old home for the Har- 

My lady was in the drawing-room expect- 
ing her son, when she heard his step in the 
hall. There was a table in the centre of the 
room, a nosegay in a beau-pot, one or two 
arm-chairs deserving of the name, worsted- 
work, pencil drawings and chalk heads round 
the walls, wax-lights standing about in sil- 
ver branches, old cabinets, a spinet, and an 
abundance of Chelsea china figures. At the 
table sat a handsome woman of about fifty, 
with powdered hair, and ruflies of delicate 
lace hanging at her elbows, who looked up 
and shook her head with a reproachful smile 
at Jasper, as he came in, all eagerness. 

"At last, Sir! Out on you for a laggard 
wooer !" 

The young man flushed. He had forgot- 
ten all about Miss Montagu, and I am afraid 
the recollection did not afl'ect him pleasant- 
ly. He said "Pish!" a little angrily, and 
then recovered himself, went up to his moth- 
er, and kissed her. 

"I had to ride down and speak to Dacres 
this evening," he said, flinging himself into 
an arm-chair by her side. 

" You look as if he had given good news 
of the pheasants," said Lady Harrington, 
knotting again. " But I wish you had come 
home earlier : Miss Montagu staid until dusk. 
She looked very well in her orange silk." 

" I hate orange," muttered Jasper. 

" So do I, in itself. But she is so dark, it 
becomes her admirablv." 

"Dark, yes. I don't like dark people. 
You're fair, you know, madam," said the 
young man, with a pretty little air of gal- 
lantry, to which she was not insensible. 
She laid her hand on his shoulder caress- 

" See here. Sir, I won't have you setting 
up your old mother for a standard. I'm not 
a fool, and I know that when twenty and 
fifty are put side by side, fifty fares poorly in 
the comparison ; and sure I am not a dragon, 
either, to grudge because 'tis so. I should 
like to welcome a young face here, Jasper, to 
brighten the old Grange." 

" Not Miss Montagu's." 

" Why not ?" she asked, laying down her 
work, and turning her beautiful grave face 
toward him. " Believe me, my first thought 
is of your happiness. If I did not feel as- 
sured Miss Montagu could give you this. 
Heaven knows she might own the whole 
county, yet I would never seek her for my i 
daughter. But she is young, amiable, hand- 
some, rich — what more do you want ?" 

" Only one thing." 


"Madam, before I married a woman, I 
should like to love her. And I don't love 
Miss Montagu." 

" But you might." 

" Never." 

She was silent for a moment, a vexed shade 
on her face. Then she said, quietly, "In 
that case you are right ; we may consider 
'tis settled. But there are others — Miss Fitz- 
Aubyn — Charlotte Bassett — " 

" She is worth a thousand of them all !" 
burst out Jasper, rapturously, to his moth- 
er's amazement. "Mother," cried the young- 
man, springing up, " there's no one half so 
good nor so pretty in the world ! What does 
it matter about the money ? We can do as 
we are. I shall die if I don't marry her, and 
she would be the dearest daughter in the 
world to you !" 

He had her by the hands, looking into her 
face with his young, eager eyes, pouring out 
a torrent of incoherent words. The win- 
dows were open to let in the soft cool air, a 
great moth went blundering and whirring 
about the ceiling, and outside the nightin- 
gales were singing their chorus to Jasper's 
words. " I love her ! I love her !" he said ; 
" I shall never care for any but her '" Was 
ever so tender a tale so little varied in all 
these years ? 

" Who — what do you mean ?" cried Lady 
Harrington, with a sickness at her heart. 

"Who? Who but Dorothy — you know 
Dorothy Flemyng ? There's no one like her ! 
Oh, mother, you will care for her for my 
sake !" 

" Jasper, let go my hands ! Are you mad, 
Sir ? The school-master's daughter !" 

People were fond of saying that Lady 
Harrington looked like a queen. She might 
have been Catherine of Aragon now, stand- 
ing up with that imperious splendor in her 
eyes. It tamed even the young lover's pas- 

" The Flemyngs are gentlefolk," he said, 
in a changed voice, turning from her and 
walking a few steps toward the window. 
Then he came back and stood before her 
again. " I would have given worlds not to 
have vexed you in this matter." 

"Vexed me!" she interrupted, coldly. "Im- 
possibilities can scarcely vex me." 

" But 'twas not possible to help it. She 
is the sweetest creature that breathes. No 
heart could resist her." 

" So yours has fallen into the springe at 
once," said Lady Harrington, in the same 
cold, hard tone. 

Jasper colored hotly. "Any thing but that, 
madam. Blame me as much as you will, but 
not her. The poor little heart is as innocent 
of design in the matter as yourself. Is it 
her fault to be so sweet ?" 

"Sweet, indeed! There are others as 

" Not to me. Wlien you married my fa- 
ther, did you think there was ever any like 
him in the world ?" 

" There never was." 

" Nor ever was a girl like her !" he cried. 




" She deserves to be a queen — there's not one 
of them can hold a candle to her. Mother, ' 
mother, you don't want to break my heart !" 

He had her hands again and was kissing 
them, and Lady Harrington, although she 
stood erect and cold, did not repulse him. 
Were tender memories fighting within her ? 
In Jasper, flushed and handsome, did she 
see his father again? Did she remember 
eager words that had leaped from lips now 
cold ? And the nightingales, had they once 
sung a chorus such as they were singing this 
sweet May night? Jasper poured out his 
words in a passionate torrent — foolish 
words, perhaps, but who knows ? There is, 
after all, something higher than wisdom, 
and this may have been its shadow. 

"Ring for Marsham. This has taken me 
by surprise,'' she said, faintly. " We will 
talk more of it to-morrow, when we shall 
both be cooler." And then all of a sudden 
she bent down and kissed him passionately. 
" Jasper, Jasper, what midsummer madness 
has seized you ?" 

Oh, foolish prophets ! The diamond may 
be hidden by enchantment when the prince 
rides forth on his quest, but do not the for- 
ests open and the dragons become harmless 
while he passes on triumphantly to win the 
lady-love who is waiting his return ? 

Or — is it only a fairy tale? 

Lady Harriugton, who was the dragon, 
lay awake all the night. She thought of 
the Grange, and the pictures in the long 
gallery, and of Dorothy Flemyng, the school- 
master's daughter, venturing to sit where 
Lady Di or Miss Montagu might have sat ; 
but think as she would, there always came 
another figure before her eyes — Jasi)er'8 fa- 
ther, with the same light in his eyes, the 
same curl in his wavy hair. There had been 
a little difficulty at one period of their woo- 
ing about the settlements. Old Sir Hugh 
had turned sulky, sworn a good deal, and 
said those words to his son, " Your madam 
will upset the coach again and Charles 
had knelt down and kissed her hand, saying, 
"As to the Grange, my dearest life, let them 
do what they will, so only it does not stand 
between you and me." The words which 
had finally won her heart forever now seem- 
ed to stretch themselves and draw Jasper 
into their tender clasp. " A school — No, 
I can never consent. And yet, does he love 
her so dearly, I wonder?" Poor dragons! 
They have their treasures to defend, and 
get wounds which no one cares to bind up. 
Lady Harrington tossed and turned, think- 
ing more of Sir Charles than of Sir Jasper in 
spite of herself, until at last she got up, 
went to a cabinet, took out a miniature with 
a curl of wavy brown hair at the back, and 
fell a -kissing it, with hot tears running 
down her cheeks all the while. We cover 
up our sorrows, and the turf grows over 
them, and sometimes even beautiful flowers. 

but every now and then there comes an 
earthquake and the graves open. 

In the morning Stephen ran into her room 
with a little puppet-show in his arms. 

" I am to show it to Miss Flemyng. I may 
take it, mayn't I, mother? We are going 
to make the puppets dance for Mrs. Harriot 
to see." 

" You are too old for puppets," answered 
Lady Harrington, sharply. " Sure a lad of 
your age might find better to do than to play 
with the women." 

"And so I do," Stephen said, flushing. "I 
fought with young Bassett the other day." 

" And what for, then ?" 

" He said his sister was as pretty as Doro- 
thy, and I said that was a lie, and so we 
fought, and I licked him." 

It was hard upon Lady Harrington, this 
double devotion, and her face was at its 
coldest when she called to Jasper a little 
later to come into the morning-room. As 
for him, he had no fears. It is those who 
have felt the jolts in the road who are on 
the look-out for them, and with him there 
had been very easy going. Dorothy was 
his absolutely ; his mother would come round. 
He went after her, and stood waiting with 
a careless grace, one hand resting on the ta- 
ble, his face unclouded by any anxiety. It 
was she who was troubled. 

"Jasper — " she began; and then, very 
abrux)tly, "Were you in your senses last 
night ?" 

" Why not, madam ?" 

"And you love this — this girl?" 

" I adore her." 

" Think, Jasper. Are you sure of your- 
self ? Could you not learn to like Miss 
Montagu ?" 

" Not if she were a queen and my sweet 
Dorothy a beggar. You would swear it your- 
self, if you were I !" cried the young man, ra- 

"Do not say so. Sir. I should think of 
the Harringtons before I made love to a poor 
school-master's daughter." 

" Madam, she would grace a dukedom." 

" For Heaven's sake, Jasper, spare me any 
fooling ! I am in my dotage now, I believe, 
to think of such madness. And I mak«i no 
promises, remember — I promise nothing; 
but I will see the girl — hush! no raptnnis; 
I can not bear them — I will see her. How 
the disgrace can be covered I do not know. 
'Tis impossil)le, I believe, to hide it. She 
must give up her own family absolutely: 
that is a necessity. The father must leave 
the place ; you and she must remain absent 
for a time — " 

"Any thing, any thing — " 

"And I do not x)romise this. I must see 
her. She may not agree to the conditions. 
Nay, 'tis folly to hope it. She will not let 
the ' ladyshii)' slip so easily," said Lady Har- 
rington, bitterly. 



" She will give up all for me/' Jasper said, 
with easy couiidcuce. 

" As I am doing," tlionght Lady Harring- 
ton. But she did not speak — only glanced 
at him and rang the bell. "Let the chariot 
be got ready, and desire Marsham to go down 
ill it to Mr. Flemyng, with my compliments 
to Miss Flemyng, and I should be glad if she 
can spare an hour to come to speak with me." 

Poor Dorothy ! She had thought of many 
things, but not of driving up to the Grange 
in this desolate grandeur, with my lady's 
own woman opposite, and an oppressive 
sense of guiltiness weighing her down. She 
thought she must die of shame if Lady Har- 
rington reproached her with all the things 
Jasper had said, and - she could neither 
deny them nor forget their sweetness. Her 
heart bounded when she saw him standing 
on the steps waiting her arrival, but then 
she felt as though she ought not to raise her 
eyes in answer to his eager whisper at the 
very door of my lady's room. There was a 
mist before her eyes as she went in and made 
a little courtesy, and stood trembling. Jas- 
per had but opened the door for her, and 
whispered those words which added to her 
confusion, and then he closed it again, and 
left her, as it were, defenseless. The room 
was familiar to her, but now it all seemed 
strange. Lady Harrington had twice re- 
quested her to sit down before she gathered 
the sense of the words. There was a Chelsea 
china shepherdess close beside her, dancing, 
with pathetic, beseeching eyes. Why do 
these figures so often look at us with such 
sad reproachfulness out of their merriment ? 
Dorothy found herself vaguely pitying the 
little woman condemned to dance, until, in 
the midst of a whirl and hum, she began 
to hear Lady Harrington's words resolving 

" which I do not conceal from you has 

been a very unexpected blow. Sir Jasper 
has, unless I misunderstand, spoken to you 
with regard to the affection he professes to 
entertain for you." 

Lady Harrington scarcely required an an- 
swer, but she accepted the girl's imploring 
look, and the color that rushed swiftly into 
her face. 

"I am desirous not to blame vou. You 
may have been imprudent, but I am aware 
there are excuses to be made for a young 
woman in your position, and I am willing to 
take these into consideration. At the same 
time, it is scarcely necessary for me to point 
out to you the difference between what he 
desires and the prospects which lie before 
him ; they are self-evident." 

She waited for an answer, and something 
like a murmured " Yes, madam," sounded. 
The little shepherdess looked at poor Doro- 
thy with sympathizing eyes. , " I dance — I 
must dance," she seemed to say, " but the 
world is full of sadness all the time." Lady 

Harrington little thought that what ap- 
peared most dreadful to Dorothy was that 
any one should talk openly of this beautiful 
new happiness, which was hapi)iness in spite 
of all its thorns. It seemed profanity. She 
felt it never could be hers, but meanwhile 
the dream of it was a sacred possession, too 
dear to be thus discussed. And the girl, on 
her part, knew as little of the storm in the 
heart of the stern judge who sat opposite to 
her, and clutched in her hand a little minia- 
ture, with a brown curl set in its back, 
which pleaded silently for the boy whose 
father was dead. Pleaded, although she 
went on inexorably ! 

" I must request you to review your own 
position as well as his. Neither in birth nor 
position is there any thing to excuse such a 
marriage in the eyes of the world. Your fa- 
ther is a school-master, holding an obscure 
preferment; nor am I aware that he has 
patrons likely to assist him to one more 

She paused again. Dorothy was silent, 
but she lifted her head, and began to recover 
her self-possession. 

"I may conclude, then, that he has no 
such prospects ? Pardon me for speaking 
openly: in such a case plain words are in 
every resi)ect the best. My son has com- 
mitted an act of egregious folly, and the 
most ordinary mode of proceeding would 
have been to send for your father, but cir- 
cumstances made me prefer this direct in- 
terview — " 

"Madam," interrupted Dorothy, in a low 
voice, which was not altogether steady when 
she began, " forgive me if I say that further 
words are unnecessary. When Sir Jasjier 
Harrington s^ioke to me last evening about 
— what — what you know, I told him that it 
would be presumx^tion on my part to accept 
the honor. He knows I never thought of it. 
There is no need for your ladyship to explain 
any thing more." 

Her voice trembled, the bright color came 
and went in her cheek, but she stood up 
resolutely, and made another little courtesy, 
as if to take leave, with a quiet dignity 
which Lady Harrington noticed with ap- 
proval. Dorothy's words had given her a 
sudden hope. If the girl's good feeling could 
be worked upon, the tangle might yet be 
smoothed, and Jasjier would soon recover 
the little smart. 

" Very well said, child," she returned, with 
more kindness than she had yet spoken. 
" You have shown a very 2n'oi)er feeling, and 
I shall not forget it. We will try to set this, 
matter right before you go ; so you shall sit 
down again until I return." 

Dorothy would not sit down again. Her 
heart was full almost to bursting. Oh, what 
had she done to bring upon herself all tliis 
dreadful delight, this sorrow which she could 
not wish away ! She might never speak to 


Jasper again ; but lie had loved lier, lie liad 
called her his life. Nothing can alter the 
past, for without it life would ho too sad. 
And then in a moment there were voices 
outside — voices and quick steps ; the door 
was flung open, and Jasper came hurry iug 
in with his mother. Her hand was on his 
arm, but he threw it off and strode up to 

Sweetest Miss Flemyng" — without giv- 
ing Iier a moment — "do you love me ?" 
"That. is un— " 

"Madam," he said, turning quickly on his 
mother, "i^ardon me, but this is a question 
solely between us two. Afterward others 
mav arise, but I will ask for this assurance. 
Sure my dearest life will not refuse to give 
it me," he went on, with his voice full Ox" 
tender persuasion. 

" I have told my lady," faltered Dorothy. 

"Tell me ! I will not have you forsworn. 
Have you said you do not care for me, when 
you know you have all my heart f he said, 

" Oh no. Sir, no I But—" 

/ 7 

"There — that's enough. Madam, His not 
as you said." 

"Jasper, you are dreaming; I protest I 
never asked such a question." 

" Nay, you said she was willing to give 
me up. Dorothy, you will not do so ?" 

" There never was any thing to give up," 
said she, trying to sjieak resolutely. 

" You say it since you think you must. 
But I knew I might trust you, although my 
mother wishes to break my heart." 

He was so full of contradictions, so loving, 
so petulant, so manly, and yet so boyish, that 
Lady Harrington, in si)ite of her vexation, 
could not help smiling. Then ho was at her 
side in a moment with a hundred protesta- 
tions, and all the time the miniature clasped 
in her hand brought back Sir Charles with 
the same eagerness in his ej^es. " Any thing 
but that the Grange shouhl come between 
us." A quarter of a century, and yet it 
seemed but one day. 

"Jasper," she said, slowly, "you take ad- 
vantage of my weakness." 

"You will be the best and dearest of 
mothers ; you will never repent. My Do- 
rothy, tell her she will never repent." 

" But there are the conditions." 

" Any thing, every thing. She will give 
up all for my sake, as I would for hers. — Will 
you not, my life?" 

" Hush, Jasper ; hear me out. Sir," went 
on Lady Harrington, keeping her eyes fixed 
on him. "The connection would present 
an insuperable bar. Miss Flemyng must be 
content to break through it altogether; the 
school must be forgotten, and to that end 
Mr. Flemyng must leave the X)lace at once." 

This time it was not Jasx)er, but Dorothy, 
who flashed out impetuously. "Madam, 
my father, my dear father leave the place ! 


Do you think I would give him up to win 
any man on earth ? Out on me, that I have 
listened so long, and him so good, so gentle! 
What would he — what would my aunt Har- 
riot do without me ? Did you believe I could 
be so wicked as to desert them ? Never, nev- 
er, madam !" 

Lady Harrington was looking at her by 
this time, and not without admiration. 
There was something in the girl's words 
which touched her, and yet, perhaps, it 
was only natural she should accept the es- 
cape they opened. 

" Nothing more, then, need be said," she 
answered, coldly. 

" Madam !" cried Jasper, reproachfully. — 
you do not mean it — you did 
not hear all." 

"I heard sufficient," she said, trembling 
with emotion. " I heard my father insulted, 
and there is no one but me to be on his side. 
Are the Flemyugs dirt under your feet, that 
they should be so scorned? Sir, I never 
sought your love." 

" What, will you not bear somewhat for 
me ? — Mother, you do not mean it ?" 

" I mean no insult ; but for the rest, Jas- 
per, I have gone to the utmost. You have 
your choice." 

He bent over Dorothy, and said, softly, 
" I have chosen. Let the Grange go." 

But a storm of feeling was tearing her. 
She looked up and answered as proudly as 
his mother : " It shall never be said that Dor- 
othy Flemyng stood between you and your 
birthright. And to leave this place would 
be to leave my father." 

" You do not care for him more than for 
me !" 

" I care for him so much that I will never 
go from him." 

He turned away, stung to the quick. "A 
fine love, indeed !" he muttered between his 
teeth. "Madam, I think you were right ; I 
care not much for a heart in which I come 

" I will go, if you please," Dorothy said, 
breathing quickly, and struggling to keep 
back tears which frightened her from their 
nearness. Lady Harrington, who saw it all 
going as she would have it, was able to look 
on with interest and a little reluctant admi- 
ration. Jasper, who thought Dorothy would 
have flown into his arms, was deeply hurt 
that any sacrifice should seem to her un- 
reasonable. He felt that ho was giving u]) 
much, and he expected a return. l'( ih;ii»s 
ho would have been more than mortal not to 
recognize the advantages of his position; he 
loved Dorothy ; but was he not Sir Jasper 
Harrington, young, rich, handsome, fiatter- 
ed, and should she not at least be sensibh; of 
the honor done to her? Lady Harrington 
rang the bell; Jasper conducted Dorothy to 
the carriage; she dared not glance at him, 
nor did she see his low bow of farewell. 



Farewell, farewell. The footman clambered 
up ; the old chariot rolled away. Was this 
the ending of it all, love changed to anger, 
Dorothy crying among the cushions of the 
old coach? It is not the di'agons nor the 
forests barring the way, but the prince him- 
self who has turned aside. And so they go 
away from each other, and the shadows grow 
darker, and the clouds gather, and through 
the trees there floats a little sorrowful echo 
full of pain. " Farewell, farewell." 

After the storm comes a lull, say the con- 
solers ; only they forget that the lull is at 
all times harder to endure than the storm. 
Every sharp keen sorrow has its excitement. 
The ship is foundering, but who and what 
will reach the port ? The hurricane is sweep- 
ing down the mountain-side, but there is the 
struggle to protect oUr dwelling. It is after- 
ward, when all is calm again, that the deso- 
lation is most desolate. It had been very 
terrible to Dorothy to go up and confront 
grand Lady Harrington, and to drive away 
feeling that a worse gulf than rank or riches 
had suddenly gaped between her and Jasper ; 
but her brave little heart had never sunk 
then as it sank when she was in the quiet, 
ugly, sheltering old home again, with its lit- 
tle expressionless windows, and the syca- 
more-trees shading the green alley, and a 
heap of blotted exercise-books lying before 
her on the window-seat. This quiet was a 
hundred times more oppressive than a whirl 
could have been ; it lay like a dead-weight 
on her heart, where no one could share it 
with her ; it stretched out before her like a 
nightmare — so many days, so many nights. 
Nevertheless, she was spared many stings : 
she had a fine, just temper; she felt no bit- 
terness against Lady Harrington, scarcely a 
tender reproach against Jasper ; what they 
had said was from their own side, and what 
it should have been. The little reproach 
that smarted was that Jasper should have 
asked her to sacrifice her father. "How 
could he think I could be false to him, 
and yet trust me for true f said the faith- 
ful little daughter, with a sharp pang that 
he she loved should have tempted her to 
such unworthiness. Do not think that Mr. 
Flemyng or poor Mrs. Harriot suffered for 
her sufiering. Every act of hers toward 
them at this time was weighted with a 
double tenderness; she smiled bravely at 
them, although she fancied there could be 
no more smiles for herself through the long 

One day, when work was over, her father 
called to her from the garden. Dorothy 
knew directly that there was some diffi- 
culty on which she was to be consulted, 
some entanglement which it would tax her 
ingenuity to set right. She laid aside the 
nuislin neckerchief she was hennning, and 
ran down the stairs. He was i)aciug up and 

down under the sycamores in the dim twi- 
light ; and at first, beyond a kind smile, took 
no notice of her. " O fallacem hominum 
spem, fragilemque Fortunam !" she heard 
him saying, under his breath. Dorothy was 
used to these fits of absence when his mind 
was in the old folios where he really lived ; 
she waited a moment, and then touched his 

" You want me. Sir, do you not ?" 

" I, child ? No," said Mr. Flemyng, mildly. 

" Indeed, Sir, you called to me to come." 

" Did I ? There was something, I remem- 
ber. Perhaps my sister Foster knows." 

" Is it the boys ?" suggested Dorothy. 

" It was a letter, I believe. Ah, yes," 
said Mr. Flemyng, changing his tone into 
one of concern ; " it is here. See, Dorothy ; 
you will grieve to part with one of your pu- 
pils, a pleasant little lad, too, of good parts. 
It must have been that of which I desired 
to speak, for the letter has just been brought. 
And stay; there was something else which 
Evans told me at the time, something of Sir 
Jasper, I believe ; but it does not concern us 
so nearly, and it has slipped my memory." 

Dorothy held the great gilt-edged sheet 
in her hand, and looked at her father with a 
quivering lip. 

" It has slipped my memory," he repeated, 
dreamily ; and then went on, " Barbara" (he 
often called her Barbara — her mother's 
name), " Rolston has been here this evening 
about taking away little Dick. It would 
be a pity, for the boy has most amazingly 
progressed of late. But I forget something 
Rolston told me about the crops. He can 
not pay, and I thought it better to tell him 
the lad might remain." 

" Without payment. Sir ?" 

" Nay, child, we can afford an act of kind- 
ness now and then. We have young Mor- 
ton, and young Harrington — " 

Dorothy held the letter to him silently. 
Mr. Flemyng took it, and glanced at it with 
a puzzled air. 

*'Ah, I had forgotten," he said, presently. 
"We shall have little Harrington no longer. 
I have been rash again, I fear ; but yet, if 
they are so poor — child, if they are so poor, 
he may come. We shall never be the losers ; 
or, if we are, it will be made right one day." 

There was a tone of sincere gratitude about 
Lady Harrington's letter announcing Ste- 
phen's withdrawal. She thanked Mr. Flem- 
yng cordially, almost warmly. Dorothy 
knew that she had only taken the step be- 
cause she thought it well to break all the 
links between the Grange and the school ; 
and it was a link, as the girl felt, for with 
Stephen by her side the separation from Jas- 
per did not seem so entire. Nor was this 
all. Besides the great ache, a hundred little 
stings seemed to dart out at her, petty and 
hateful, but none the less j'eal. For the 
payment they received from Stephen was of 



no small consequence to tbe little household, 
and with this loss Dick Rolston suddenly 
fell upon their charity. Dorothy's patience 
fled when she thought of Rolston's false 
tongue, and of Dick's appetite and copy- 
books. And what tidings were those which 
Evans had brought of Sir Jasper ? Would 
she ever see him again? Could she ever 
bear to see him ? Ah, yes, she could bear 
any thing, so that every now and then her 
hungry heart might have its craving stilled 
by a sight, however distant. To-morrow 
was Sunday, and then he would be with his 
mother at church. Would the day ever 
come! It came at last, a sweet summer 
day, with a sky of tender, unfathomable 
blue, with larks whistling exultingly, with 
honeysuckle flinging itself over the hedges, 
and the country people strolling along the 
deep lanes to the little ivy-covered, pictur- 
esque, damp old church. Dorothy, Mrs. 
Foster, and Mr. Flemyng, with a train of 
half a dozen little boys, reached the lich- 
gate just as the Grange carriage drove up. 
Poor Dorothy ! If only she could have sunk 
into the earth ; if her father would but have 
hurried on. But no ; his sister was on one 
arm, his daughter on the other, and he stood 
back a little to let my lady get out, and to 
lift his hat to her in his gentle, courteous 
fashion. Stephen, in a little red coat, was 
with her, and when he saw Dorothy he tried 
to break away, but my lady held his hand 
firmly. She never smiled more sweetly on 
the little group, wanting to show Dorothy 
that now it was all at an end, and she was 
conqueror, and bore no malice. Conqueror 
indeed, as the girl thought, with a sudden 
flush; it had been but an unequal combat 
between this great lady, with her riches and 
her rank and her jewels and her beauty, and 
herself. The tears riished into her eyes as 
she courtesied, and knew that Lady Har- 
rington was smiling down upon her, and 
that Jasper was not there. They went into 
the little church one after another. Could 
Dorothy ever forget that day ? She had 
thought that perhaps Jasper would go, but 
now she was sure he had gone ; and the shad- 
ow and the reality are different enough, as 
we have all found out by this time. For 
some time she understood nothing, heard 
nothing ; the passionate throbbing of her 
heart stilled all sounds except a dull, monot- 
onous hum of voices, and every now and 
then the shrill crow of a cock in the farm- 
yard close at hand. By-and-l)y fiddles and 
bass-viols and flutes began to quaver from 
the singing-loft, and they all stood up to j 
sing the morning hynm. It was an odd i)er- ; 
version of music, with quaint x)rofano little 
runs and twirls about it ; but the summer 

' I 

sunshine stole lovingly into the church, and 
through the porch you could see cool green 
shadows, and the people sang out cheerily, 
and the straightforward simj^iicity of the 

old psalm seemed to arrest Dorothy's wan- 
dering fancies, and go direct to her heart. 
She had done right, and though it had cost 
her something, there was a sweet, serene 
consciousness which by-and-by would grow 
into peace. Dorothy had concpiered more 
nobly than Lady Harrington, although just 
now she was feeling the jar and whirl of 
the conflict. Poor Mrs. Harriot clung to her 
and looked down on the little figure with 
wistful, tremulous looks, not even quite sure 
of the familiar tones, or whether it was 
right they should be standing there singing ; 
and Dorothy caught Farmer Rolston's tri- 
umphant eye. They wanted her indeed to 
protect them. There had been Love, young, 
strong, beautiful, opening wide his arms, 
and calling ; and another Love, sad, weak, 
unconsciously pathetic, appealing nmtely to 
her. She had chosen the most divine, and 
do you think that by-and-by she would not 
also learn its greater loveliness ? N.ay, why 
do I say by-and-by? Though Jasper was 
gone, and Lady Harrington was conqueror, 
and the girl's heart felt crushed and bruised, 
it was with her now, pouring in oil and wine. 

But there was something at hand which 
she little expected. When she had reached 
home, and had run up to her own room, a 
letter was lying on the table. How it got 
there Dorothy never knew ; but she did not 
think about that at first ; she caught it up 
and kissed it, and opened it greedily, long- 
ing for some line of reconciliation. 

"For Heaven's sake, madam, send me word that 'tis 
a cruel mistake, for I am almost distracted when I 
think upon that day. Sure, I must have been a wretch, 
or you could not have cast me off so ; but if you could 
only know a little how I love you, you would not be 
so hard. What, do you not love me well enough to 
give up your home for me, when I am willing to give 
up mine forever? My mother believes me to have 
gone to London, and so I was on the road, not caring 
much what came of me ; but every step away from 
you costs me so dear that I have stopped at Mildon, 
at Will Carter's coffee-house, until I hear one word 
from you whether you be not a little relented to one 
whose whole heart is yours. Dacres will send his boy 
for an answer to this. I could write forever, but that 
each moment seems an hour before I know my fate. 
One word will bring me to your feet — only say that no 
one shall stand between us. Sure you will not refuse 
to give up something for me ?" 

By the time she had finished it Dorothy 
was kissing the letter again, and raining 
down tears upon it, it was so sweet to feel 
herself still loved, when she had been think- 
ing Jasper had cast her out of his hciart for- 
ever. She was no haughty beauty, arrogant 
of conquest, and secure in her own charms, 
but rather thought so little of hcrs(;lf that 
it only seemed strange he should once hnvc 
loved, and not that his love had ended. 
Give up something? Ah! what would she 
not have given up that was her own, were 
it only out of gratitude for so sweet a jjlead- 
ing? It was not for herself; surely he 
would understand that now. I think if 
was the truest unselfishness of love which 



gave her strength to write the brave little 
words with which she answered that letter ; 
but perhaps there are not many men who 
would have read them so, and Jasper could 
not see the tears or the kisses. 

"Dear Sik, — The letter you have writ has given 
me a lively pleasure, for I feared I had not expressed 
myself in a proper manner, and that you had misun- 
derstood my meaning. I am very grateful for the 
honor you have showed me ; but, indeed, what you 
wisli can never be, for my lady was quite right in 
what she said, and I could never give up my dear 
father nor my poor aunt, that need so much care. 
Pray, Sir, do not think any more about me, that am 
not worth it ; but be sure that you have the prayers 
and heart-felt wishes of your most liumble servant, 


And so he had. Innocent jirayers that 
shielded him, perhaps, many a time. 

After that, although she heard no more 
from Jasper, Dorothy's heart was lighter. 
She had a simple faith in his understanding. 
She thought he would think of her no more, 
dnd yet hoped he would think kindly. It 
would have hurt her terribly to know that 
foolish Jasper was away iii London, fighting 
with love and pride and anger, vowing he 
would dream of her no more, and then, with 
a despairing tit upon him, that he would go 
fight the Americans, since life was not worth 
keeping with no hope of Dorothy. He went 
into many a wild place, but still I think 
those prayers shielded him. 

At home Lady Harrington ruled with a 
high hand, making no sign of missing her 
eldest son ; and Miss Montagu would have 
nothing to say to her suitors, but drove over 
to the Grange periodically, and heard bits 
of Jasper's letters, and drove back again in 
her great chariot, as she had driven that 
May evening when Jasper was coming in 
triumph from his wooing, and thought of 
him, sighing, every time she passed the bit 
of heathery common along which she had 
seen him ride with a smile upon his face ; 
and Dorothy struggled and fought for the 
two gentle, dependent old people who rested 
upon her, and tamed the boys, and did bat- 
tle bravely with grim poverty, and never 
lost her brightness nor her lovable beauty 
in spite of all. 

It was only One Strength which could 
have made her so strong, for those were 
hard times with them — a hard summer, a 
hard autumn, a hard winter. The merciful 
cloud lay heavily now on poor Mrs. Harriot's 
feeble faculties. She needed more care and 
soothing every month, and there was no one 
to give it but Dorothy. When Mr. Flemyng 
awoke to it, it distressed him so greatly 
that his daughter could only gently try to 
lead him from the thought. She had a hun- 
dred little tender wiles and craftinesses 
which would have made you smile — or per- 
haps cry, if their pathetic side had struck 
you. And as for him, slie had always been 
forced to be his protector since her mother 

died. His gentleness, his simplicity, his 
trustfulness, his fits of absence — all required 
her to be on the watch for him. He would 
give his coat to a beggar — or his wig either, 
for that matter — sutter himself to be de- 
frauded glaringly, and yet somehow he al- 
ways shamed the xieople who cheated him. 
It was so imijossible to his nature to believe 
in wrong, that wrong had at least a desii'C 
to deck itself in better clothing before him. 

So the little household fared as best they 
might. The boys' appetites sometimes ap- 
palled Dorothy; but she was a rare little 
housewife, and then, as has been said, she 
was a queen among them, and liked them 
as they liked her. But there was one ele- 
ment of discord. Dick Rolston had always 
been a big, hulking, unmannerly fellow ; but 
since Mr. Flemyng's charity had been ex- 
tended to him, the boy had become almost 
intolerable, especially to Dorothy. There 
had been one or two gallant fights on her 
behalf; but Dick was too big to be van- 
quished, and the boys could do nothing ex- 
cept agree to hate and despise him — and 
avoid his great fist. Dorothy tried to con- 
quer him with her most winning ways, but 
in vain. He grudged even receiving her 
help in his lessons, and once was so insolent 
that it would have been open rebellion if 
she had not flashed round upon him in 
her spirited manner. " To a w oman ! For 
shame, Sir!" she said, with her eyes full on 
him ; and my gentleman's color rose, and he 
was mute. It may be imagined how the 
school crowed after this at their enemy's 
discomfiture ; but still it was in the dark or 
in comers, for fear of his fist. Mr. Flemyng 
had ever a word of excuse, but Dorothy 
thought it hard they should do so much and 
get not even a grateful look for their pains. 
If she had possessed a wider experience of 
life, she might have found out that it was 
this very sense of obligation that goaded the 
boy. He knew that his father had taken in 
Mr. Flemyng, and he hated Mr. Flemyng for 
being a dupe, Dorothy for her kindness, him- 
seK, perhaps, more than all. There was a 
heathenish whirl in his little heart, but it 
was not altogether what they fancied. 

Now and then would come a present of 
game from the Grange ; otherwise all inter- 
course ceased. Once, when Dorothy went 
out through the great gates, which in my 
picture shut in the house and the play- 
ground, a pair of arms were flung round 
her neck, and there was Stephen, escaped 
from home and tutor, to bring her a little 
ship lie had made out of a walnut-shell, and 
full of a letter from Jasper and a lottery- 
ticket, which he said he had had that day 
sennight, and would have fetched, if she 
had let him. She walked back with him 
as far as the lodge, over brown autunm 
leaves, between hedges in which scarlet 
berries burned. After that not much came 



to recall that strauge, dreamy time : Lady 
Harrington at church, Jasper's horses exer- 
cising, his dogs bounding on her — this was 
all she knew of the Grange through the long 
winter. She did not even hear tlie talk of 
the villagers that Miss Montagu was to be 
my lady's daughter-in-laW; because she came 
so often to the Grange. Her step was as 
light, her coloring as bright as ever>. No 
one noticed that she no longer sang about 
the house like a bird. She thought, when- 
ever she permitted herself to think, that the 
ache was dying out of her heart, and then 
suddenly, when she least expected it, the 
oddest, most trifling thing in the world, 
would seem to wake it up. 

So the days went by — as the days go by 
for us all — and the weeks and the months. 
In the spring Mrs. Harriot died, passing 
away very gently, until just at the last she 
cried out "Austin!" rapturously, and smiled 
at some one whom they did not see. Her 
death left a blank in the little household — 
a blank, in Mr. Flemyng's case, mixed with 
a little vague trouble, which Dorothy no- 
ticed with a pang, lest it might be the faint 
shadowing of the same cloud — but there was 
no otlier change. No news of Jasper — no 
break in the quiet monotony of the days. 

Lady Harrington's winter was worse than 
Dorothy's, after all. She had lost Jasper, 
and a dreary foreboding of this came over 
her when she opened his letters, which were 
dry bones compared to his presence. " Mr. 
Garrick has api^eared in a new character," 
" Mr. Burke's speech gave extraordinary dis- 
satisfaction," "'Tis said there was a high- 
way robbery last evening in Pall Mall," 
were like the maxims of an exercise, and 
distracted poor Lady Harrington, who want- 
ed news of her boy himself, and cared noth- 
ing in comparison for Garrick or Burke. She 
believed she had acted for the best ; but yet, 
whenever she looked at the miniature the 
father's eyes reproached her. " What would 
the Grange have been between us ?" they 
said ; " there are higher things than rank or 
fortune." Once she went so far as to write 
to Jasper that if he would come back she be- 
lieved she could not be angry with him, what- 
ever he did. In his answer, which was slow 
in reaching her, ho replied that ho would 
never marry a woman who did not care 
enough for hi in to give up all, that he hated 
the Grange, and thought of going to the 

But ho did not go to the wars. One Sat- 
urday in April news came to the village 
that Sir Jasper was lying ill in London, 
and my lady had ordered post-horses to 
meet her at Mildon, and was gone as fast 
as they could carry her to nurse him. Ev- 
ans, the under-gardener, brought down the 
tidings, which spread pretty quickly, but 
had not reached Dorothy when, in the after- 
noon, she started on a message she did not 

like to Dick Rolston's father at River Farm, 
a couple of miles from the school. Every 
now and then, on a half-holiday, she made 
these little unsatisfactory expeditions, which 
never produced any result. Rolston was as 
full of oily gratitude as Dick was surly, but 
times were always bad, and Mr. Flemyng 
had promised; and Dorothy walked away 
with a battling sense of weakness. 

She came home by the river. All the way 
from Belford to Mildon it was a deep, broad 
stream, up and down which rafts used to 
creep, bringing coal and carrying back wood 
to the port. On one side the shore shelved 
very gradually, flat gravelly reaches ran 
into the water, green with patches of the 
fleshy glasswort; on the other there were 
steep in-and-out banks, with sweet little 
calm hollows, and trees dipping into them. 
As Dorothy came along these banks the sun 
was setting, and flooded every thing with 
intense golden light. The water blazed 
with it; two or three coal-rafts, going up 
the river in slow procession, had hoisted 
old square sails, which caught the glory 
and gleamed like cloth of gold. There are 
commonplace things about us which now 
and then also wear a glory, I fancy — rug- 
ged, worn, battered lives, some of them. 
The softest, tenderest shadows lay in the 
little curves of the bank, tiny leaves dain- 
tily uncurled themselves, primroses peeped 
out of the grass, and beyond the rounded 
points the golden river, strong and stead- 
fast, flowed downward to the great sea. 
The girl gathered primroses with crumply 
leaves, and lingered to watch the rafts out 
of sight, when suddenly a rustle close at 
hand and a scream startled her — 

" Oh, I shall drown ! I shall drown !" 

It was Stei)hen's voice, and Dorothy flew. 
On the other side of the little hollow into 
which she had been looking the bank rose 
abrui)tly from the water. She heard crack- 
ling, rustling; above it all that shrill, |)ite- 
ous child's cry, " Oh, I shall drown, I shall !" 
Dorothy was on the spot in a moment, tear- 
ing aside the bushes, looking, scrambling, 
clutching. Down below her, in the swift, 
smooth water, the boy was hanging; the 
bough on which he was clambering liad 
broken ; he had caught at one weak l>ranch 
after another — the last Avas even now crack- 
ing in his hold ; his white, terrified face 
turned upward, the strong current* sweep- 
ing round him, a little toy-ship entangled 
in the twigs. Dorothy was powerless. She 
had no time for more than one horror-Htrnch 
look, one juercing scream for help, wlicn the 
last feeble support l)roke; the poor little 
white face floated helplessly away. Oli, the 
anguish of that moment — the horror of see- 
ing him borne from her! And then sudden- 
ly she heard a shout, flying ste])H crashing 
through the brush-wood, and Dick Kol.ston 
came leaping toward her. "Ho is in the 



water !" she cried. There, there !" Dick 
drat^ged oft' his coat, and was down the 
bank and in the river in a moment, strik- 
ing out gallantly for the spot where he had 
caught a glimpse of little Stephen. Dorothy 
ran along the hank crying for help, half 
blinded by the brush-wood that beat in her 
face, now and then catching sight of the 
golden gleaming river and Dick's round 
head. She saw it disappear, and thought 
he was sinking, and screamed again more 
hoarsely; but he came up and shook him- 
self, and went on like a young otter, and 
disappeared once more ; and then she saw 
him making heavily for the shore, and knew 
that he had Stephen in his clutch. 

It was a terrible struggle. The current ran 
strongly, and his helx)less burden dragged 
him down ; and when he had nearly reached 
the shore he was so spent that he and 
Stephen were sinking together, when two 
men ran down, attracted by the cries, and 
jumped into the river, and with some diffi- 
culty got them out, both unconscious. They 
lay on the bank side by side, fair, delicate, 
tender-looking Stephen, and Dick with the 
surly lines still about his mouth, set hard 
with the might of that great struggle. The 
men scratched their heads and looked with 
rueful perplexity, while Dorothy was on her 
knees beside them trying all the simple 
means she could remember. 

" Better hold them up by their heels, and 
let the water run out." 

"Noa, thee shouldn't. Thee should take 
a bit o' ash, and lay un crosswise, and then 
car' un — " 

"Will you carry fhem to the school?" 
Dorothy said, getting up quickly. " That 
is the nearest house. I will go on and have 
things ready." 

She w^as as good as her word. When the 
men carrying their dripping burdens came 
in through the green gates, Dorothy was 
waiting at the door ; beds and hot blankets 
were ready, and little Molly sent as fast as 
she could run for the doctor. Before Mr. 
Jones arrived Stephen was sensible again, 
and clinging to Dorothy ; and then one aft- 
er another came terrified stragglers from 
the Grange — Mrs. Williams the housekeeper, 
Mr. Ardley the tutor, Evans, and Dacres 
the gamekeeper — all frightened out of their 
wits. Stephen had escaped from Mr. Ard- 
ley, it seemed, and made olf to the river to 
sail his boat ; and we know what followed. 
Mrs. Williams, x^anting out her gratitude, 
was ready to kiss Dorothy. 

"I'm sure, miss, if my lady had lost both 
in one day !" she cried, with a gasj). That 
was the first news Dorothy had of Jas^^er's 

" An amazing valuable life, vastly valu- 
able," said Mr. Jones, anxiously. " He must 
remain here for the present, and the most 
absolute quiet must be preserved. No sacri- 

fice is too great for a young gentleman of 
his condition." When Mr. Jones said that, 
the girl's quick si)irit revolted a little from 
Stex^hen, the culxirit, about whom there was 
this ado, to poor surly Dick, the hero, over 
whom no one was fussing. But when she 
had carried oft" the reluctant Mr. Jones to 
his side, she found her father tenderly busied 
about him. 

" I have sent Molly to the farm, my dear," 
he said, softly. " Poor little lad, poor little 
lad !" 

" My good Sir," said Mr. Jones, pompously, 
"permit me to congratulate you upon the 
favorable opinion which I believe I may 
venture to express upon young Mr. Stephen 
Harrington's ultimate recovery. I had the 
honor of inoculating him for the small-pox. 
A most valuable life, Sir, vastly valuable." 

" Sir," answered Mr. Flemyng, mildly, 
" perhaps not so valuable as this." 

The next morning Stephen lay tossing 
about in a feverish attack brought on by 
the shock and wetting. Mr. Ardley had 
written to Lady Harrington in St. James's 
Square. Mrs. Williams established herself 
at the school to nurse Stephen ; but Stexihen 
would be nursed by no one but t)orothj', so 
that her being there was of no XJarticular 
service, excex)t when now and then there 
came a few minutes of unquiet sleep, and 
the girl would slix) her hand from the clasp 
of the little hot fingers, and steal into the 
other quiet room, from which they had not 
shut out the sunshine, although Dick Rol- 
ston lay there — dead. 

Yes, Dick. Poor, surly, gruff, brave Dick. 

He had never revived. Somehow, when 
Stephen came round, they thought the 
stronger lad would soon recover, but the 
exhaustion of the struggle must have been 
too great. He could have saved himself, no 
doubt ; and who knows the force of the in- 
stinct that he resisted ? But he had done 
something far grander, for he had given 
himself to save another, and in that mo- 
ment of heroism God had taken him. What 
would you have had better ? Which of us 
would not ask for such an end, blotting olit 
so much that was unworthy ? Do you think 
it was nothing to have gained those xntiful 
tears that were shed over him, Mr. Flemyng's 
and Dorothy's and little simx)le Molly's, and 
the boys, coming in with hushed voices, one 
by one, to look reverently on the still young 
face wearing its new glory, and ever after- 
ward to talk proudly of their school-fellow 
who had died like a hero ? That one look at 
his face swex)t away all remembrances that 
were not of the noblest. " He was always 
brave," said one. " He fought the fellows 
wiio were stoning the dog," said another. 
Was it nothing to have gained such a mem- 
ory ? And he had no mother. Poor Dick! 
This was far better. 



Dorothy wept bitter tears for him during 
the loug nights when Stephen tossed and 
fretted if she was not close at hand. She 
was wearied out with all she had to do, 
and with an ever-present longing to hear 
how it fared with Jasx)er, fancying him ill, 
perhaps dying, and no word ever again to 
pass between them. Mrs. Williams every 
day went to the Grange to look after her 
staff there, and Mr. Ardley wandered sadly 
backward and forward, until he found a fel- 
low-student in Mr. Flemyng, and then the 
two used to pace up and down under the 
sycamores talking of this edition and that. 
Dorothy, sitting one afternoon at Stei)hen's 
window, looked down with a little wonder 
at the long black figures with their wigs 
and three-cornered hats, and the boys play- 
ing solemnly, and the little stiff garden with 
daffodils flaunting in the sunshine, and the 
old sun-dial in the middle. Perhaps we 
never get over that feeling of wonder that 
all around us the world is so little changed 
when we are shaken to the centre. Stephen 
was ill, and Jasper perhaps dying, and Dick 
lying dead, and all went on as if they had 
never been. Life brings an answer to the 
riddle, and a comfort from it, but it is al- 
ways wonderful, and for a time x^erplexing ; 
and Dorothy leaned her head against the 
window and thought of it. She did not 
notice a little commotion at the gates, nor 
Molly's awe-stricken voice upon the stairs, 
but she heard the door open softly, and 
turned round to see Lady Harrington stand- 
ing there, with a face as white as her pow- 
dered hair. 

" May I come in ?" she said, in an eager 

" That is mamma !" cried out Stephen ; and 
she was at his side with her arms round him 
in a moment. The room swam before Doro- 
thy, for there was another figure in the door- 
way — Jasper, in his caped riding-coat — Jas- 
per, pale, thin, changed, but with the old 
look in his eyes. 

"Oh, he must not come in!" Lady Har- 
rington said, quickly. "Dorothy, run out 
and stop him !" 

Was she smiling ? Was it a dream ? 
What could she do ? " Oh, Sir," she was be- 
ginning, falteringly, when she found herself 
in his hold. 

" Only say you do not hate me — you for- 
give me, my dearest life! 'Tis almost im- 
possible that you should, and yet if you 
knew what I have endured I 'Twas when I 
was ill that I saw my madness I What, 
won't you forgive me ? Nay. I will be for- 
given — I must ! I see it in your eyes, that 
were ever the sweetest." 

" Sweetest eyes were ever seen." It is the 
old love-song, eternally new. Look. In the 
little dingy passage there are two lovers, al- 
most silent in the depth of their great joy ; 
by Stei)hcn's bedside is ijoured out the yearn- 

ing of a mother's love ; in a quiet room hard 
by, still and peaceful, lies Dick, who had 
given his life for another. Ay, look ! For, 
thank Heaven, though we are sad and sin- 
ful, there come to us foreshadowiugs of what 
we may one day taste in its perfection and 
in its infinity. 

The old school-house passed into other 
hands when Mr. Flemyng went to live, in his 
gentle, lingering way, at the Grange. Lady 
Harrington tended him kindly. Stephen was 
sent to Westminster. Jasper and Dorothy 
are together in their peaceful home when we 
turn our backs upon them. It is a fareweU 
again which the trees whisper, but a fare- 
well without the j)ain. 

And Dick is not forgotten. 


AMONG the places a stranger at Wash- 
ington visits with eagerness there is no 
one capable of giving more satisfaction to a 
thoughtful mind than the Nationjil Observ- 
atory. It is not so much what one sees of 
arrangements, instruments, and achromatic 
glasses, as what these and kindred objects 
suggest, that makes the day one of red let- 
ters ever afterward in the memory. Take,, 
for example, the series of observations, made 
in many countries, extending over centuries, 
which has at length determined with great 
precision that the astronomical or, as it is 
sometimes called, civil year consists of 365 
days, 5 hours, 48 minutes, and 49.7 seconds. 
This length, as is generally known, is about 
six hours greater than it was according to 
the estimates relied upon at the beginning 
of the Christian era. Reckoning by the data 
these last give, one day is lost every four 
years. Such an error, standing uncorrected 
for any considerable length of time, would 
be certain to produce awkward results. The 
day might come when harvest-home would 
return before the seed had germinated, 
Michaelmas be postponed to the end of win- 
ter, and Christmas occur in the vernal equi- 
nox. In fact, winter and summer, spring 
and autumn, as the years went round, would 
be i)ei"petually changing places. It became 
necessary, therefore, in all countries where 
the astronomical year was recognized, to 
correct the calendar at intervals to prevent 
the increase of an evil for which no provis- 
ion was made. 

Julius CtEsar was probably the first man 
in authority who attempted a permanent 
correction of the calendar, assisted by So- 
sigenes, an Egyptian astronomer. Their de- 
vice was to add a day every fourth year to 
February, and the principle adopted was so 
excellent that it has been both retained and 
extended to the present time. This correc- 
tion of time was ordered to be made in all 
countries where the Roman authority was 
acknowledged, and to secure a uniformity of 



dates, the sixth day before tlie kalends of 
March was to be reckoned twice, for which 
reason the fourth year, now called leap-year, 
was by the Romans designated bissextile. 
But this ingenious contrivance did not make 
the calendar perfectly correct. The civil 
year was still at variance with the astronom- 
ical. There was a surplusage of eleven min- 
utes in the former after the double day had 
been added to it — a triiiing error for a man's 
lifetime, but, when multiplied by. centuries, 
a marked quantity, threatening to interfere 
not only with social arrangements, but with 
the very existence of ecclesiastical law. The 
new Julian year was indeed a great gain 
over the old Roman year. It was a close 
approximation to correct measurement of 
time. But it contained an element of error, 
and could not remain permanently in use, 
unless a means of absorbing the miscalcula- 
tion it perpetuated could be discovered. 

The necessities of the Catholic Church ul- 
timately led to the requisite improvement. 
The Council of Nice, which had assembled 
in the year 325 a.d., ordered, among other 
matters, that Easter should be celebrated on 
the first Sunday after the full moon next 
following the vernal equinox. This was a 
guide to other church festivals. Advent-Sun- 
day, Ascension-day, Whitsuntide, Trinity- 
Sunday, the forty days of Lent, the Ember- 
days, the Rogation-days, and others depend- 
ed upon Easter. They had become, in the 
course of ages, fasts and festivals intermin- 
gled with daily concerns of life. Planting 
and harvesting, dairy-work and sheep-shear- 
ing, felling of timber and salving of kine, 
brewing ale, preparing conserves, curing 
meats, housing garden-stuffs, distilling do- 
mestic spirits, and drying medicinal herbs, 
grew during the Dark Ages into supersti- 
tious connection with certain holy day*. 
But as every revolving year failed to bring 
the earth quite back to the same point in 
the ecliptic, the sun that warmed, the stars 
that were supposed to vivify, and the ele- 
ments that nourished the sown seed grew 
slack in their work. The value of old tradi- 
tions decreased. Calculations failed. Farm- 
ers believed the seasons to be changing. In 
the fifteenth century nine days of variation 
had taken place, and the gap was constant- 
ly widening. 

Even during the previous century the dif- 
ference between the two years — astronom- 
ical and civil — had become sufficiently im- 
portant to force upon the attention of pope 
and conclave the necessity of correcting the 
calendar. At the Council of Nice the vernal 
equinox had fallen on the 21st of March : it 
now fell on the 12th of the same month. The 
celebration of Easter, and of all feasts and 
fasts depending upon it, was therefore put 
out of joint. This caused infinite confusion, 
and for at least two centuries before its ac- 
complishment the enterprise of bringing the 

I two years together again was meditated and 
i discussed by scholars. But for the interrup- 
! tion of the preliminary calculations by the 
death of John Miiller, the astronomer select- 
ed to advise the pontiff, it would probably 
have been effected by Sixtus IV. instead of 
Gregory XIII. Being thus deprived of the 
assistance of the man best able to accom- 
jjlish his object — the well-known founder 
of the Nuremberg xmnting- house, and the 
most eminent astronomer of the fifteenth 
century — Sixtus lost the honor of effecting 
I the useful design. 

There is little cause of regret, however, 
on that score. Pope Gregory XIII. was not 
only a friend to, but a devotee of, science. 
The task of reform could not have fallen 
into better hands. He was distinguished 
for his learning, and although succeeding to 
the pontificate when past seventy years of 
age, made the thirteen years of his rule il- 
lustrious by the promotion of education at 
Rome and throughout his states. His change 
of the Julian calendar, in spite of bitter op- 
position, to that which has since been called 
the Gregorian, did much to redeem the Rom- 
ish Church from its reputation of universal 
hostility to science. 

To restore the civil year to a correspond- 
ence with the astronomical, he ordered that 
the 5th of October, 1582, should be called the 
15th. To prevent the intrusion of the same 
errors in the measurement of time in future 
ages, and to secure the recurrence of the 
festivals of the church at the same x^eriod 
of the year, he further decreed that every 
year whose number is not divisible by four 
should consist of three hundred and sixty- 
five days ; every year which is so divisible, 
but not divisible by one hundred, of three 
hundred and sixty-six days ; every year di- 
visible by one hundred, but not by four hun- 
dred, of three hundred and sixty-five ; and 
every year divisible by four hundred, of three 
hundred and sixty-six. A more perfect cor- 
respondence of the civil and astronomical 
years will probably never be obtained. Aft- 
er the lax)se of four thousand two hundred 
and thirty-seven years the error will be less 
than one day. In the x)reparation of this 
rule every source of disagreement is esti- 
mated, and as far as jiossible corrected. The 
allowance of an extra day every fourth year 
is indeed a small excess ; but this is not al- 
lowed to accumulate, for at the commence- 
ment of every century the centennial year is 
not to consist of three hundred and sixty-six 
days, or, in other words, is not to be counted 
a leap-year, unless its number can be divided 
by four hundred. Thus the year 1600 was 
a leai)-year, and the year 2000 will be the 
same ; but the years 1700 and 1800 contained, 
and the year 1900 will contain, only 365 

And now comes in a note from history 
which ought never to be forgotten. This 



decree of Gregory XIII., exacted by necessi- 
ty, founded ujion science, universal in bene- 
fit, recommended by common-sense, tainted 
with no superstition, and asking in its ac- 
ceptance no concession of religious faitli — a 
decree that commended its terms by their 
universal application, met a want that was 
every Avhere felt, settled a question that 
had vexed the world for half a decade of 
centuries, and corrected, as it was allowed 
to do by men of science, an evil that was 
felt through every ramification of the social 
condition of Europe — was accepted in Italy 
and Spain only. France partially adopted 
it, which was no better than to have reject- 
ed it. As for England, she would none of 
it; nor Germany, nor the Northern States, 
nor Holland, nor Russia. The authoritative 
demand of the pope for immediate and uni- 
versal adoption of the reformed calendar, 
no matter by what sufficient reasons recom- 
mended, or necessities required, or good ren- 
dered certain, was to be resisted. Con- 
science, stone-blind or enlightened, required 
opposition to whatever proceeded from 
Rome, and was to be obeyed. It reminds 
one of the couplet good, eccentric Rowland 
Hill — not he of the postage reform, but his 
godly ancestor of even higher renown — used 
to repeat at his table whenever sectarian 
prejudices had hindered his philanthropic 
labors : 

" Begone, old bigotry, abhorred 
By all who love our common Lord!" 

The states w^hich acknowledged the ec- 
clesiastical sovereignty of the Bishop of 


Rome gave willing compliance to Pope 
Gregory's decree. The Protestant states 
delayed. All through the long reign of 
Elizabeth, the tyraimy of James, the fickle- 
ness of Charles I., and the Commonwealth 
the old style obtained in England. It was 
not until the days of George the Second 
that England and her colonies adopted the 
Gregorian calendar. The decree was issued 
in 1582. Parliament established its pur- 
port as the law of the land in 1751. Other 
Protestant states followed — always with 
protest, however, against the authority of 
the pope. 

Russia adheres, or did ten years ago, to 
the Julian calendar. The business incon- 
venience of this is great. Letters to foreign 
countries, orders for shipments, times of de- 
parture for steamers and sailing vessels, 
news from abroad, advertisements of the 
holding of international fairs, and on(; 
knows not what besides, must all bear two 
dates — old style and new. The mariner can 
not read the nautical almanac, nor the 
merchant accept a draft from abroad, nor 
the broker determine foreign exchangop, 
without having two dates at hand. Ad- 
vices can not be understood, bills of lading 
can not be made effective, telegrams can not 
be comprehended, without an extra labor, 
small in each instance, but large in the ag- 
gregate, which the Julian calendar in Rus- 
sia imposes. " Does he mean old style or 
new ?" is a question asked in St. Peters- 
burg and Moscow thousands of times in a 


Yoti have chosen coldly to cast away 
The love they tell you is faithless found. 

Pity or trust it is vain to pray — 
Your heart they have hardened, your senses bound. 
You have broken the wreaths that clasped you 

The strength of the vine and the opening flower: 

Love, torn and trampled on stony ground, 
Is left to die in its blossom hour. 

Well, go your ways ; but, wherever they lead, 

They can not leave me wholly behind. 
From the flower, as it falls, there falls a seed 

Whose roots round the roots of life shall wind. 

So sure as the soul in the flesh is shrined, 
So sure as the fire in the cloud is set, 

Be you ever so cold or ever so blind, 
You shall find and fathom and feel me yet. 

As the germ of a tree in the close dark earth 

Struggles for life in its breathless tomb. 
Quickening painfully into birth. 

Writhing its way up to light and room ; 

As it spreads its growth till the great boughs loom 
A shade and a greenness wide and high. 

And the birds sing under the myriad bloom, 
And the top looks into the infinite sky ; 

So shall it be with the love to-day 
Flung under your feet as a worthless thing. 

The hour and the spot I can not say • 
Where the seed, fate-sown, at last shall spring : 

Beyond, it may be, the narrow ring 
Of our little world in swarming space, 

After weary length of journeying, 
It shall drop from the wind to its destined place. 

But somewhere, I know, it shall reach its height ! 

Sometime it shall conquer this cruel wrong! 
The sun by day, and the moon by night, 

Shower and season, shall bear it along. 

You will sleep and wake while it waxes strong 
And green beside the appointed ways. 

Til], full of blossom and dew and song, 
You shall find it there after many days. 

Perchance it shall be amid long despair 

Of toiling over the desert sand ; 
When your eyes are burned by the level glare, 

And the staff is fire to your bleeding hand. 

Then the waving of boughs in a silent land, 
And a wonder of green afar shall spread. 

And your feet as under a tent shall stand. 
With shadow and sweetness about your head ; 

And my soul, like the unseen scent of the flower. 
Shall circle the heights and tlie depths of tlio 

Nothing of all in that consummate hour 
That shall not come as a part of nu;! 
Tliis world or that may my triumph see- 
But love and life can m-vcr be twain, 

And time as a breath of the wind shall bo, 
When we meet and grow together again ! 

Vol.. XLVL— No. 271.— 5 



[Setter £.] 



Xth day of Quinctilis, 
Year of Rome DCCCXXXV. 

BELOVED FRIEND,— See how I keep 
my promise to tell you, by letter, all 
about the home life of Romaus, who are just 
MOW our masters. I write on triple-weft 
charta Augusta, as smooth as a lady's cheek, 
and which takes the color for my drawings 
more kindly than does any other sort of the 
paper of Egypt. 

I have come, as you know, as a messenger 
from Agricola, now among the hills of Cale- 
donia, bearing a laurel-decked letter to his 
late consular associate, Titus Flavins Domi- 
tian, for whom the soldiers shouted Impera- 
tor ! and he now wears the purple. It is our 
best policy, dear Penda, to serve well when 
we can not reign ; and it is for that reason 
that I joined the army and am now here. 
I am lodged in the house of the young pa- 
trician Caius Cornelius Tacitus, who, you 
know, married Julia, the sweet daughter of 
Agricola, in the very year when her father 
was made governor of Britain. 

I will not now tell you of our perilous 
journey through Gaul. I will only write 
that I crossed the Channel from the chalk 
cliffs to Gessoriacum in a large galley on a 
calm day, with ten horsemen who composed 
my guard, and their spirited little beasts 
and mine from the j)astures of Flavia Ca3sa- 
riensis, as our masters call the country of 
our beloved Iceni. Across broad i)lains and 
dismal marshes, and over great wooded hills 
and lofty mountains, we made aur way into 

Italy, and entered Rome by the Flavinian 
Way, which is lined with tombs or sepulchral 
urns. The laws of the Twelve Tables for- 
bid all burials within the city, and so the 
graves of the poor and the stately urns hold- 
ing the ashes of the rich (for they bum the 
bodies) are by the way-side. These tombs 
are sometimes made at the jJiiblic expense. 
I send you a drawing of one of the plainer 
sort. It is that of Marcus Aurelius Secun- 
dus, one of Augustus Csesar's veteran sol- 
diers. It bears his effigy, by which you may 
see how honored men dress on jDublic occa- 
sions. I also send you one of an elegant urn 
that stands upon a pedestal of porphyry, not 
far distant from the other. It is wrought of 
black marble, such as the statue of Seneca 
has just been made of. Upon the lid stands 
a sorrowing boy with a torch inverted so as 
to extinguish it. This is a favorite way here 
of symbolizing the end of life. 

So soon as we had entered Rome my 
guards, before partaking of refi*eshments, 
hurried to the Temple of Concord, on the 
slope of the Capitoline, to pay their vows to 
their gods ; while I, with better knowledge, 
learned from the venerated priv^sts of the 
groves, breathed a silent hymn of gratitude 
to the Omnipotent One whose chief minister 





rales the day. After ablutions at the ther- 
mse on the Via Lata, I passed slowly along 
the Via Sacra in meridian heat, resting a 
little in the shade of the Arch of Titus, and 
thence to the audience chamber of the im- 
perial home on the Palatine. I put Agric- 
ola's dispatches into the hands of the em- 
peror, and then sought the house of Tacitus 
in the Carinse, at the corner of a little angi- 

The emperor treats me kindly, for I bore 
him good news. He commended me to sen- 
ators and nobles, who call me Cadallan the 
Pictor ; and sometimes, in good nature, they 
fondle me as they would a girl, for I am fair 
and ruddy, and they look upon picture-mak- 
ing, in which I delight, as effeminate busi- 
ness, fitting for the occupation of the de- 
spised Greeks only. But it suits my fancy 
and serves us both, for by a few lines and a 
little color I can tell you more about the 
home life of this people than by writing over 
many leaves. 

I have been a welcome guest in some of 
the best houses in Eome ; and with the bright 
young Caius Plinius Cecilius Secundus, w^ho 
pleads so eloquently before the courts of the 
centumviri and the senate, I have visited 
his country house at Laurentum, seventeen 
miles from the city, which belonged to his 
uncle and foster-father, the admiral who lost 
his life at Stabise when Pompeii and Hercu- 
laneum were buried in lava and ashes seven 
years ago. He is tjnlarging and adorning it. 
I have also been to Varro's villa at Casinum, 
which Antony plundered and greatly in- 
jured; but it is magnificent even now. I 

have learned much of Roman life by con- 
tinued observation and inquiry, and what 
I have learned I w^ill now tell you. 

There are two sorts of houses in Rome. One 
is for the common peoi)le, merchants and me- 
chanics, and they are called insulw, because 
there are several of them in a group, like lit- 
tle islands. Those of each grouj) are gener- 
ally owned by one man, who hires the houses 
to others. In one of tliese, close by the Ap- 
pian Way, lived that Paulus, a Jew (whom 
your father, as he told me, saw hero), w^ho 
was brought to Rome a prisoner about twen- 
ty years ago, accused by his countrymen of 
sedition, because he proclaimed a new relig- 
ion started in Judsea by a man who, they 
say, declared himself to be King of the Jews, 
and which has made so great a stir there and 
here that the emperor has forbidden these 
Christians, as they are called, assembling to- 
gether. These plainer houses are usually one 
story in height, with only three, and some- 
times four, rooms. 

The other sort of houses, belonging to 
people of quality, is called domus. Some of 
these are magnificent, and have as many 
as four floors, one above the other. The 
first floor is for the use of the servants, and 
the bath. The second floor contains the 
grand apartments for guests and the fam- 
ily, including the great eating -hall. The 
new city will be much more magnificent 
than the old one was when Nero, as many 
believe, set it on fire eighteen years ago. 
The streets are made wider, and are kei)t 
clean by great sewers, and rivers of water 
that flow through it from the distant hills 




along magnificent aqnecliicts. The houses 
are larger than before, and many are bnilt 
of Alban stone, and are so made fire-proof. 

Before the better sort of houses are vesti- 
bules, or open courts, adjoining the street. 
Each house incloses a vestibule on three 
sides. In the middle portion is the front- 
door, two-leaved in form, furnished with 
a movable lock, and also bolts and bars. 
Some of these doors are very elegant. I 
have seen one made of polished marble, and 
two others were of bronze. Such is the 
janua of the son of Nero's wealthy freed- 
man on the Vicus Tuscus. Rich ornaments 
cover many of them, and the locks also bear 
beautiful devices. The keys are multiform, 
as the drawings show. Some smaller keys, 
for securing chests and cabinets, are fasten- 
ed to finger-rings, and used as seals upon 
the mouths of the amphorje of the wine-cel- 
lar, which none but the master dare break. 
Most of the doors have knockers made of 
bronze, often of curious workmanship, such 
as you see here, which shows a satyr's 

head. Many have bells hanging outside. 
These knockers and l)ell8 summon the por- 
ter, who is chained within the ostium, or 
front hall, close to th(5 door (with a fettered 
dog for his companion), and has a little 
room within reach of his tether. Some of 
these bells are beautifully wrought, as you 
see ; and on one of them, used in tliis hos- 
pitable house, is a Greek inscription in Ro- 
man letters that signifies Earth, Air, Fire, 
and Water, which, Seneca taught, are the 
four elements of nature. The «ame bells 
are used for calling the family from bed and 
to their meals. They are also hung at the 
gates of the temples, and smaller ones are 
often fastened to the necks of horses, oxen, 
and sheep, attached to straps. The city 
watchmen carry them at night. I give you 
the forms of some of them, but I can not 
send you their sweet sounds, which often 
rival the melody of the nightingale in your 
own dear Canti. I am told that in Athens 
the doors of houses close upon the streets 
open outward, and that persons about to go 
out knock on the inside to notifj^ the passer- 
by on the narrow pavement to get out of 
the way. 

In the event of a marriage the doors here 
are adorned with pots and wreaths of bay 
and myrtle, and musicians play in the vesti- 
bule, while the people stand in crowds at 
the gate, and there receive each a little 
bride-cake, made of white flour from the 
corn of Dalmatia, mixed with anise and new 
wine. A birth is announced by suspending 
a chaplet of sweet flowers, such as the rose 
of Persia and the heliotrope of Sicily, upon 
the front-door. A death is indicated by pots 
of cypress set in front of the door. Some- 
times, on festive occasions, the whole vesti- 
bule is covered with branches of trees and 
flowering shrubs. So covered was the street 
court of Senator Deutatus, the other day, 
when his daughter was married to a nephew 
of Flavius Josephus, an honored Roman Jew 





now living here, and a great favorite of 
the Empress Domitia. In the evening the 
whole space was lighted by many-colored 
lanterns, which made the falling waters of 
the fonntain appear like a shower of pre- 
cious stones. 

I have spoken of the bath on the lower 
floor. There is one in every good house, for 
the Romans have learned from the Greeks 
the advantages of cleanliness. They never 
fail to bathe just before the evening meal, 
the principal one of the day, which is par- 
taken of by the higher classes at about the 
ninth hour. There are magnificent public 
baths open every day from sunrise till sun- 
set to all classes of people. Connected with 
these are ample places for exercise and 
amusement, schools, and halls for eating, 
where the bathers pay for what they con- 
sume. The price for a bath is only one 
quadrans, tlie smallest copper coin in use 


here. Children are admitted free. Men 
and women have generally bathed together ; 
but a more decent way has been introduced 
in the new thermae, where they have sepa- 
rate apartments. Bathers who can afford it 
hire men or boys to rub them with pumice, 


or with an iron instrument called a strigil, 
and also with a sponge or towel. The poor 
rub themselves. 

The baths are generally divided into five 
compartments. The bather first enters a cold 
room called the frifjiclarinm, where the dis- 
robing is done. From this lie passes into 
the tepidarium, or warm room. Out of the 
warm-air room he goes into the sndcOio, or 


sweating-room, which is filled with warm 
vapor, and thence into the bath-room, which 
is furnished with a large marble basin with 
a wide rim, whereon the bathers sit waiting 
their turn to be rubbed, or rub themselves. 
Under the sweating and bath rooms are the 
fires that give heat to the air and water. 

After leaving the bath the bather passes 
slowly through the sweating-room into the 
tepidarium. There he is anointed with per- 
fumed oils brought from a room back of the 
frigidarium, where it is kept in jars on 
shelves like those in the sho]) of an apoth- 
ecary. After remaining in the tepidarium 
long enough to become cool, the bather goes 
into the frigidarium and dresses liimself. 
The several rooms which form a complete 
bath may be seen in the drawing, beginning 
with the hot bath on the left, and passing to 
tlie riglit, through the sweating, the warm, 
and the cold room, to the perfume chamber. 
Very rich women sometimes bathe in milk, 
because it makes tlie skin soft and white. 
Nero's queen, Poppjea Sabina, the marveh)U8- 
ly beautiful as well as the marvelously wick- 
ed usurper of Octavia's bed, ke]it fifty slic- 
asses, even when journeying, which were 
milked to furnish lier with tlie means for a 
daily bath in the fluid. 

The afriiim, or large family apartment, is 
I the most important room in the house. Tlie 
I rich fit it up in great splendor sometimes, 
for in it they receive their guests, and also 




the train of people who come daily to pay 
their respects to the master of the house, or 
to accei>t prescDts of food or money, or fa- 
vors of some kind. Many rich and great 
men have a host of such retainers, who are 
called clients, and take pride in the number 
of them. In the more simple days of the re- 
public they were often invited to dine with 
the master, but now they accept food, which 
they carry away in a basket, or take an 
equivalent in money. With this custom the 
wits are making merry. 

Sometimes the ceiling of the atrium may 
be seen painted in gay colors, or covered 
with beaten gold. The walls have pictures 
painted on them representing the gods, or 
scenes of love, war, and of the chase, or are 
hung with rich stuffs from the looms of Per- 
sia and Ind, while the floors are often made 
of many-colored stones in beautiful forms. 
In niches stand marble statues, and upon 
brackets are busts, and from the ceiling 
hangs a lamp of excellent workmanship. In 
this room the family daily assemble, and 
here the morning sacrifice is made at a little 
altar. Here also the wax figures of the an- 
cestors of the family are kept. In the atrium 
the pedagogue often teaches the children 
grammar, and there the mother, if she be 
faithful, instructs th(?m in the higher moral- 
ities of life. Alas ! there are few Cornelias 
now. Most of the Roman matrons ought 
to blush if they look upon her statue when 
they cross the Forum Romanum. 

The si)inning and weaving implements of 
the household may be often found in the 
atrium, and scattered about are the toys of 
children. In one corner, covered with a cur- 
tain, may bo seen a case filled with books 
from Greece, and a few from the pens of Ro- 
mans, and to these the booksellers from the 
Vicus Sandalarius — where the shoe-makers | 
abound — often make additions. It seems I 

a little curious, dear Penda, that these two 
trades should be carried on together in the 
same street, jointly supjdying the head with- 
in and the feet without with needful things. 
But I must not pause to reflect, but will 
proceed to say that in this atrium is the 
focus, or fire-])lace, dedicated to the lares of 
the family. It is the family altar, for these 
people really worship fire under gross sym- 
bols, as we do in more ethereal similitudes. 
Until the reign of Tiberius Csesar the cook- 
ing was done at the fire in the atrium, for 
there was none elsewhere ; but now there is 
a separate apartment for that business. 

In the atrium you may also see many seats, 
some very plain, and nothing more than a 
wooden stool with three legs. Others are 
more elegantly wrought, and have cushioned 
backs, with cushions on the seats, made of 
down or feathers or the blossom of the sweet 
calamus, covered with cloth made brilliant 
with Tyrian dyes. Sometimes they are made 
of osiers, with high hollow backs, and some- 
times they are curiously inlaid with wood, 
ivory, gold, and silver. I saw one that 
was brought from Persia, and presented to 
Augustus Cajsar, that was made wholly of 
ivory, and has cushions covered with silk 
from Damascus. Here, too, may be seen lit- 
tle tables for the seamstresses and for other 
purposes, some elegantly wrought after the 
manner of the seats. There, too, are chests 
with drawers, presses for clothing, and cask- 
ets with jewels ; and at wedding times the 
nuptial couch is placed in the atrium — the 
room most sacred to the family — opjiosite to 
the entrance door. 

The cuUna, or kitchen, is near the eating- 
hall. There all the cooking is done, and 
from It the filled dishes are carried to the 
eating-hall or to the d'mta. The utensils in 
I the kitchen are many in number and kind, 
I from the little short-handled spoon to the 




great long -handled, one (witli whicli the 
chief cook, sitting like a king upon a high 
stool, reaches to every kettle and tastes the 
broth), or the stately caldron in which the 
meats and vegetables are seethed. The 
cooks here require a great number of 
utensils, for they have a larger variety of 
food from the earth, air, and water to pre- 
pare than those of Britain, where diet is sim- 
ple. Some of the caldrons, made of cop- 
per, are of enormous size. The saucepans 
are also made of copper, and often have or- 
namented handles. There are skillets of 
pottery and iron ; small pots and kettles ; 
frying-pans, broilers, and steamers ; ladles, 
flesh-hooks, colanders, and fine strainers ; 
salt-cuj)8, and l)oxes filled with powdered 
spices from the East; jars of honey; knives 
with curiously wrought handles of wood, 
stags' horns, and iv^ory; dishes for gravy, 
sometimes made of silver ; broad plates for 
the flesh, and deep dishes for soups; and 
vases for oil, vinegar, and liquors. I might 
mention other things ; but wliat I have said, 
with the drawings and explanations, will 
give you an idea of the furnishing of a Ro- 
man kitchen for cooking, with a kind of stove 
made of baked earth, and a charcoal fire. 

Among the drawings is one of a lieautiful 
strainer, which a client of Cossus gave to tliat 
master of oratory not more than a month 
ago. It came from a Corintliian kitchen ; 
and as you are little acquainted with the re- 
ligion of the Greeks, I will explain the fig- 
ures in the device, which are made of raised 
silver, on the handle. At the lower end is 
the god Pan, with a goat's ears, horns, and 

legs, pushing a full goat that is standing 
upon its hinder feet. Between them is c 
Pan's pipe, an instrument of music made of 
reed, on which is a horn full of fruit, denot- 
ing plenty. Above them are two wild-boars, 
and again above these is a sheep. Near thij 

.ijH.I IJ?ini ljlHJ'.jl|ll||V:imi i| 

.„. JIiiilliiliiiiiii i iifii miiiiii 






strainer is an idol fixed npon a stick, at the 
foot of a tree, in front of an altar on wliich 
are two pomegranates ; by it are seen a spear 
and harp. Cossus tells me that his client 
says these figures have a symbolical rela- 
tion to some religious rites of the Greeks in 
the worship of Bacchus, an ancient Indian 
god — the god of wine, and drunkards who 
are made half beasts by it — and that this 
strainer was used for clearing the liquors in 


the kitchen by the butler before the cup- 
bearer carried them to the master and his 
guests at table. 

The ordinary meats used here are veal, 
beef, lamb, mutton, pork, the flesh of goats, 
and poultry, such as geese, hens, ducks, ca- 
pons, and i^uUets. The deer, hare, rabbit, 
and dormouse rank among the delicacies. 
So also do peacocks, partridges, hens from 
Africa, pigeons, and several smaller kinds 
of birds, such as the thrush, woodcock, and 
turtle-dove. The wild-boar is occasionally 
seen upon table ; so also is the flesh of the 
bear. Fish of many kinds are plentiful ; 
and some are regarded not only as delicacies, 
but as luxuries. The turbot is a favorite on 
the royal table, where it is drowned in olive- 
oil from Venafrum. Mullets are dainties, 
and herrings from Lipara are eagerly sought. 
Lampreys from the Sicilian whirlpool are 
eaten only by the rich, and delight the epi- 
cure. Lobsters and crabs are eaten cold, 
with sliced eggs ; and oysters from Pelorus 
are great dainties. They have a variety of 
sauces : and at the table of Licctus I partook 
of a dish highly seasoned with pei)per from 
the Indian isles and salt from Sarmatia. It 
was composed of flesh small minced, and 
mixed with vinegar, blood, toasted cheese, 
parsley, cummin, thyme, coriander, and oth- 
er odoriferous herbs and seeds, onions roast- 
ed in ashes, poppies, dried grapes, honey, and 
pomegranate kernels, and made into the con- 
sistency of a pudding or sausage. 

Here wo have veg(!tables unknown in our 
dear Britain. The delicious asparagus from 
the gardens of Laurentum, radishes from 




Martinse, turnips fi^om Thebes, beets from 
Ascra, cabbages, mnsli rooms, and truffles 
from the surrounding fiehls, are all plentiful 
in their season. Cucumbers and water-mel 
oils abound. Peaches come from the Levant, 
and delicious apx)les from the orchards of 
Tivoli. Nuts, and cakes rich with butter, 
line-flavored with almonds, or sweet with 
honey, are served with the wine, which is 
often sj^iced and sweetened and cooled into 
delicious draughts by snow brought from 
the Apennines, which is carried about the 
streets in little chariots lined with straw. 
The cooks are mostly Greeks or Sicilians, 
and are very expert. It is said that one in 
the emperor's kitchen has boiled and roast- 
ed the two halves of a pig at the same time 
without dividing it ; and another has made 
pork appear to the taste like fish and wood- 
[)igeon; while a third, from Syracuse, so dis- 
guised a herring that Domitian thought it 
was a lamprey. But the emperor is no epi- 
cure, and is as easily served as deceived. 
He cares not wlnitlier he washes down his 
Malian apple with a draught of cold water 
or of the costliest wine. 

And now, dear Penda, having shown you 
the kitchen and the food there prepared for 
the table, Twill lead you into the great ban- 
quet-hall, that you may see in what manner 
the patricians of Rome take their meals. 

In ancient days the eating-hall was on tlie 
lower floor; but in the course of time, when 
luxury brouglit in new manners, and the 
soft Greek liabit of lying upon a couch at 
table, instead of sitting upright as tlie stur- 
dier old Romans and the Greeks' own stur- 
dier ancestors did, became fashionable, tlie 
dining-room was placed on the same floor 
with the atrium. It was anciently called 
the cwnacnhim, or room to dine in, but now 

it is called the tricUnium, because the table- 
couches are generally made to hold three 
l^ersons each. There is also in each house 
a smaller room for children and others to eat 
in, called the diceta. Sometimes this contains 
a sleeping-bed, and is used as a sort of nurs- 
ery ; and herein little games and amusements 
are carried on. 

That the Greeks, from whom the Romans 
learned the use of the bath and the lazy cus- 
tom of lying down to eat, sat upright in their 
olden time, I learned only j^estcrday, when 
the master now teaching the little children 
of Cossiis read to me the account given by 
an old Greek poet of the arrival of Ulysses, 
a celebrated prince, at the palace of Alciiious 
of Pliaiacia, after a shipwreck, who caused 
his guest to sit at table in a magnificent 
chair. And it was not until the end of the 
second Punic war, two hundred and fifty 
years ago, I am told, that the Romans 
adopted the luxurious habit of lying at 
meat. It soon became fashionable all over 
the Roman empire ^ and now, when luxury 
in every form and volu])tu()us ease liav(5 
taken the place of simplicity, frugality, and 
useful activity, it is practiced even by the 
common people, avIio lie ui)on benches when 
they eat their brown bread and acorns and 
fish from the Tiber. This custom began with 
the daily use of the bath, which was takni 
just before the evening meal, when the 
1 lathers lay down upon a couch and there 
received food from their attendants. 

Tlie eating-bed, or couch, as I have said, 
was usually made for three ])eis()ns. I send 
you a drawing of one with only two persons 
upon it — Cossus and his wife— with th(^ lit- 
tle tal)le in g«!neral use before them, on which 
is a small loaf of bread, a of mixed wine 
and milk, and a lamprey. They are recliu- 



ing lit the head of the baiKjuet. Their guests 
are three, six, or nine in number, upon one, 
two, or three couches. And here I will give 
you the reason for each couch holding three 
persons. The rule laid down by Varro, the 
most learned and elegant of the Romans, 
they tell me, was that the number of guests 
should never be less than the Graces (three) 
nor more than the Muses, or nine. This rule 
is sometimes disregarded, for I have seen 
twelve guests at supper. In the frigidari- 
um of the baths of Tiberius Caesar, which 
the great fire spared, I have seen a painting 
on the wall of eleven guests at a feast with 
the master and mistress of the house, all on 
one long couch of semicircular form There 
is a sort of battlement in trout of the feast 
era, beautifully cushioned, on which they 
lean and receive their food and wine, and 
under them is a soft mattress. Attendants 
are in waiting. Among them is a woman 
giving them musical entertainment Avith a 
double flute, such as are used in the theatres. 

The greatest luxury and extravagance are 
sometimes displayed by the rich at their 
banquets. Sometimes the table -beds are 
made of costlj^ wood, adorned with tortoise- 
shells, ivory, or some more valuable thing, 
and glitter with precious stones. Rich 
quilts or mattresses, purple in color, em- 
broidered with gold, and adorned with 
leaves and flowers of all colors, cover the 
couches.^ Cups and goblets of silver, gold, 
and crystal, and drinking-horns adorned 
with the heads of animals, abound, and are 
arranged in perfect order. Glasses, vials, 
vases, and other objects, curiously wrought, 
stand before the guests with sauces and 
spices ; and beautiful boys are usually em- 


ployed as cup-bearers and w^aiters, often not 
so much for real service as for the x>leasure 
, which their sweet faces and graceful forms 
give to the guests. Some pour out the 
, wine, and others bear it to the company 
, Their faces are painted to heighten their 
j beauty, and the hair of each is arranged in 
a pleasing manner, sometimes with a wreath 
of laurel, fastened with a cparklmg buckle. 
Their tunics are fine and thin, so as to dis- 
play all motions of the body, and are girt 
about the waist with ribbons,- and tucked 
up in such a manner as to leave them hang- 
ing in folds on all sides, so that they do not 
fall quite to the knee. There are sometimes 
as many as seven courses, each served upon 
a diflerent table to each guest. The feast 
ends with pastry and fruit as a dessert. 
The tables are brought in, at each course, 
fully set, and the guest may choose what he 
X)leases from that which is before him The 
guests are often enlivened by the music of 
the flute and lyre 

Public banquet-8 are given on occasions. 
At these one of the company is chosen to 
preside as rex convkii, or king of the feast, 
whose business is to assign to each guest his 
place according to rank and circumslance. 
His will is law during the feast, which every 
one is compelled to obey^ Sometimes he 
plays the petty tyrant, and exercises his ca- 
price in a most annoying manner, such a.s 
pouring wine upon the head of a guest who 
may refuse to drink. All of the great ban- 
quets are given in the evening, as well as 
private suppers The breakfast and dinner 
are slight repasts taken by the family in 
the digeta. The EgjT)tians, I am told, had a 
strange custom at their public feasts and 
the entertainments of the rich in the elder 
ages of the nation At the end of the feast 
a bier with a small wooden or clay figure of 
a dead corpse was brought in, and the bear- 
er of it Avent to each guest and said, "Look 
upon this. Eat, drink, and be merry ; but 
know that you shall one day be like it." I 
have seen here in the booksellers' shops lit- 
tle earthen figures of such corpses, a span 
long, that were jdaced upon the tables of the 
Egyptians at the end of their feasts. This 
may be pleasant to the spirits of that strange 
people, who neither burn nor bury their 
dead, but perfume them and box them up in 
wooden cases for preservation, as we do salt- 
ed sturgeon for the Levantine market. But 
we, dear Penda, do not like the intrusion of 
such reminders of destiny, and would regard 
a death's-head where there is good cheer as 
an impertinence. 

The furniture of the tables of rich Romans 
shows a great variety of forms and workman- 
ship. It consists chiefly of vases of all sizes 
for liquors, oils, and perfumes ; flagons, bot- 
j ties, goblets, pitchers, salvers, plates, bowls, 
j milk and honey pots, dishes for meats and 
1 vegetables, gravy dishes, drinking cups and 



pots, standing cups, chalices, vials, craters, 
knives, spoons, small flesh-hooks ; fruit dish- 
es of wood, clay, and metal ; and linen nap- 
kins and towels, sometimes richly embroid- 
ered. The vessels are made of brass, bronze, 
wood, clay, stone, glass, silver, gold, and 
precious stones, such as onyx, agate, jasper, 
and carnelian. Among the vessels of his 
table most prized by Nero were his magnifi- 
cent goblets of rock-crystal wrought by the 
best Etruscan artists. 

The most beautiful of the vases that I 
have seen were brought from Corinth long 
after Mummius burned that city. They 
were found buried in ruins. One of these, 
made of terra cotta, w4th the figures of the 
nine Muses in relief on the sides, belongs to 
Trebius, a senator. I send you a drawing 


of it. Most of the other vases, large and 
small, seen on tables are the work of the old 
Etruscans or their Roman imitators. The 
earthen ones are paint(id in subdued colors. 
I give you a drawing of one used for water 
at the banquet that is made of a kind of 
jasper, with a lid bearing the image of a 
man's head. I have seen six little table 
vases which Pomx)ey brought among his tro- 
phies of triumph in the East, and dedicated 
to Jupiter Ca]»itolinus. They arc made of a 
curious mineral found in Parthia, that has 
the dim lustre of the pearl, but is of a bright 

There are also seen upon tables little vases 
for oils, called gutti, because of their narrow 
throats, through which the fluid trickh^s, a 
single drop at a time. Pitchers of curious 
and elegant forms abound ; and you will see 
every where, in private houses, public rc- 


sorts, and in temples, vessels called craters, 
in which wine is mixed with water, for the 
pure juice of the grape is seldom used. 
These craters are of various sizes, according 
to the number of guests or other uses to 
which they are put. They are employed in 
the dedication of temples, and in making 
offerings of wine, milk, and honey. Sailors 
take libations from them in cups, and pour 
them into the sea before dei)arting on a voy- 
age. They have been used in Greece for at 
least a thousand years. Livius Andronius 
says in a book I have seen that Agamemnon 
returned from Troy with no less than three 





t housaud craters as a part of his spoil. They 
are often highly oruainented, and are made 
in curious forms. I give you a drawing of 
one made in the shape of a human head, 
which Drusus, a friend of Tacitus, and a 
centurion, brought fiom Syracuse last year. 
It is made of red earth hard baked. 

Vessels of glass, particularly those used 
for drinking, are common, and some of them 
are very elegant. I have seen glass goblets 
the colors of which changed in different 
lights as do those of the feathers on the 
neck of a pigeon. Others are ornamented 
with figures cut by a revolving wheel in a 
curious manner, and others have glittering 
bands of gold around them, and are marked 
with their owners' names, and expressions 
such as " I thirst." So, also, were their 
great earthen vessels. The names are 
stamped upon the soft clay before it is 
baked, with seals of metal and wood. These 
seals are sometimes made quite fanciful in 
shape That of the human foot is a favorite 
form, giving the idea that the impression 
was made by the pedal pressure. 


I have told you of several principal apart- 
ments of a fine Roman house. I will now 
write of others. 

The cu6jt'w/«m,orbed-chamber,i8A'^ery small, 
and there are S(;parate ones for the day and 
night. They are phiced, if possible, in the 
eastern part of the house, so that the sleeper 
may have the light and warmth of tfie morn- 
ing snn, which excites his gratitude to ado- 
ration. Sometim(^s they are connected with 
a litth; dressing-room. In the most remote 
part of the house is the conclaviw, ap})ropri- 

ated to the use of the women, where much 
of the spinning and needle-work is done. 
Near the triclinium is the exedrce, or small 
room for conversation and other social pur- 
poses. Another room, more spacious than 
the eating-hall, with columns, and often 
highly ornamented, is devoted to the occa- 
sional gatherings of a large number of 
friends, and sometimes as a dining -hall. 
The winter apartments are on the upper 
floor at the soutli side of the house, where 
the heat of the sun is generally sufificieut 
to make them comfortable in this mild cli- 
mate. Into these, on the coldest days, a fo- 
culus, or small portable fire-place, is carried, 
with hot ashes or burning charcoal, whose 
fumes escape by the windows or an opening 
in the roof. 


The 2)eristylium is a pleasant part of the 
house. It is an inner court, open to the sky, 
with columns and a gallery, and the area 
planted with flowers and shrubbery, among 
which the family take delight, for it is a lit- 
tle garden, bright and sweet. On the tops 
of houses are often seen small terraces for 
basking in the sun, called solaria, and a few 
have little gardens on their roofs. On one 
near the Porta Flaminia is a small fish-pond. 

And now, dear Penda, go with me in im- 
agination, as you read this portion of my let- 
ter, to a villa not far from Rome where na- 
ture and art conspire to delight the senses in 
a marvelous manner. A week ago I went 
with the young Plinius to his country house, 
to which I have alluded. Being only three 
miles from Laurentum, he calls it Laurentin- 
ium. We rode out in a small chariot along 
the highway to Ostia, six miles from the 
villa, Avhere we took a common country 
road that led us through woods and open 
fields abounding with flowery meadows and 
rich pastures, where flocks and h<>rds were 
grazing. We approached the villa by a 
pleasant shaded avenue that leads to a 
large circular space they call a portico. 
Around this are the buildings or apart- 
ments, one story in height, which compose 
the villa. These arc built in various styles 
for various uses. The triclinium, or grand 
eating-hall, is upon the sea-shore, and when 
the south wind bloAvs from Africa the waves 
wash its walls. The room has on all sides 
spacious doors and windows, from Avhich, as 
it is upon a point of land, you may look out 
and seem to behold three different seas. 



From anotlier front you have a view of an 
inner court, the portico, the avenue, and the 
near woods and distant mountains. 

Not far from this hall, across a court, is a 
large and small bedroom with east and west 
windows, from which you have a prospect 
of the sea. These chambers and the triclin- 
ium make an angle, upon which the rays 
of the sun fall all the day long, making the 
apartments warm in winter, when the domes- 
tics occupy them, and the master is away from 
the chilling fogs of the sea-shore in his house 
in the city. In a room at that angle, con- 
necting by a wainscoted passage with the 
larger bed-chamber, is a library. Other 
lodgings are on the same side, which the 
slaves and freedmeu occupy. Near these, 
separated only by a court, are two spacious 
rooms, illuminated by the sunlight direct, 
and reflected from the sea. From one of 
these, which is used for an eating-hall, you 
pass into the bathing-rooms, arranged after 
the manner of the public baths in the city. 
In one of these are two batliinf; basins lar^e 
enough to swim in, and are so situated that 
the bathers may look out upon the sea. 

Close by the baths is a tennis-court that 
faces the setting sun. There a tower is car- 
ried up, with two rooms at the bottom and 
two above. From the latter you have an 
extensive prospect of the sea and the neigh- 
boring country-seats, which line the shore 
along a distance of at least a hundred stadia. 
Not far off is a similar tower, which the sun 
lights up all the day ; and beyond it are store- 
houses for grain and servants' rooms, and an 
eating-hall that overlooks a garden Jtnd a 
walk that surrounds it. That broad walk 
is bordered with box and rosemary, fringed 
with myrtle, and shaded b}" vines. 
The garden is planted with fig, plane, and 
mulberry trees. Passing on, you come to the 
kitchen-garden, which is overlooked by an- 
other eating-hall. Close by is an arched 
gallery with windows on both sides, that 
may be oiien or closed, as the weather may 
require. Before this gallery is a gymnasium 
for exercise, pleasantly exposed to the sea- 
air, but so arranged that it may be closed j 
against the frequent chilling winds. Here I 
are sun - heated apartments, built by the I 
young Plinius but a year ago. These give 
him special delight. One looks out upon 
the gallery and into the bed-chambers, and 
is 80 curiously contrived that you may join 
it to that chamber as one room, or separate 
them with ease l)y transj)arent stone taldets 
or curtains. The chamber contains two 
chairs and a bed, and from its open win- 
dows you may look out upon both the sea 
and the country. It is in so quiet a place 
that the noise of the servants when they 
keep the Saturnalian feast, and even the roar 
of the sea, can not be heard. TIk; windows 
may be so tightly closed as to keep out the 
sunbeams in the daytime, and the lightning 

at night. Under one of the windows is a 
small stove, with which the room may be 
pleasantly heated in chilly weather. In this 
room, Plinius says, I retire when I please, 
for study or meditation, and am never dis- 
turbed." He lacks only one felicity. He 
has no water-pipes to bring streams from 
the hills for baths and fountains, such as 
most of the other villas have, but his wells 
are many, and give him sweet and soft 
water in abundance, which is drawn by 
swax)es and buckets. 

Such, my dear Penda, is one of the plain- 
est of the country houses of rich Eoman citi- 
zens that line the sea-shore. Some of them 
are truly magnificent — almost beyond de- 
scription. Every one has a tower from which 
to look over wide ranges of land and sea. 
Some have fountains, cascades, and pebbly 
brooks. Some have extensive gardens filled 
with fruits and vegetables, but many are 
houses and grounds for pleasure only, with 
neither fruit nor kitchen garden, whose own- 
ers buy all they need for food in the city. 
This folly of T3uying the products of the 
fields in a town for use in the country has 
just been sharply ridiculed by a young poet 
named Martial, lately come from Spain, and 
who is already so great a favorite of Domi- 
tian that he lives in the palace and eats at 
the royal table, while grizzly-haired Juve- 
nal, the Volscian, a far wiser man, is intense- 
ly hated by the emperor because he severely 
satirizes Paris, a young pantomime dancer, 
who is Domitia's special favorite. 

I have lately visited the once magnificent 
villa of Varro, at Casinum, which I have 
already mentioned. Though half in ruins, 
it is magnificent si ill. The general arrange- 
ment of the a])artnients is similar to that in 
the villa of Plinius, but on a much grander 
scale, and one moie gorgeous in its structure 
and adornments. The grounds around it arc 
extensive. They were laid out in unsur- 
passed landscape beauty, and are now dotted 
with overturned statues of white marble. 
But I will not weary you with repetition in 
describing this villa, but rather delight you, 
I hope, with a description and drawing of 
his superb aviary, wherein he kept large 
numbers of rare and costly birds. It, too, 
is partly in ruins, but I have delineated it 
as in perfection. 

This aviary forms a part of the villa. It 
is uy)on an eminence overlooking the sea. 
At the entrance are two porticoes, or large 
cages, with columns all around, and cover- 
ed with Avire netting at top and sides, so as 
to give the birds plenty of air and freedom, 
but not their natural liberty. Between 
these immense cages is th(^ entrance to the 
court, on each side of whieli is a long pool 
for water-fowl. From tbis court you ])a8s to 
a large double eob)nnade, tbe outward cir- 
cumference of whieli islmilt of Alban stone, 
and the inner one of fir from tbe Apennines. 



The space between tliera is about five feet, 
and is covered, like the cages at the entrance, 
with a wire netting. This space was filled 
with the rarest singing -birds from many 
lands. The colonnade rested upon a sub- 
stantial stone quay that projected several 
feet beyond the inner circle, and was raised 
two feet above the inclosed pool. This pro- 
jection aftbrded a i)leasaut walk for the 

guests from which to view the singing-birds 
and the w^ater-foAvl. 

In the centre of the pool is a round isl- 
and covered by a dome supported by col- 
umns. Here Varro and his friends ate and 
conversed. Under the centre of the dome 
is a round table that moves upon an axis, 
by which the boys in attendance might 
turn to each guest such viands as he might 



choose. Within the dome is a hemisphere, 
jipon which was delineated in bright colors 
the celestial sphere ; but those colors are 
now dim and the lines obscnre. There was 
also a picture of the winds, so arranged 
upon an axle that when a vane on the top 
of the dome was turned in the direction it 
might be blowing at any time, the finger of 
hand within pointed toward the picture 
of that wind. Over the table was a water- 
clock made of glass by which to count the 
hours at day or night ; and at the entrance 
to the dome is a brazen sun-dial, whose 
gnomon was solid silver. This gnomon was 
carried away when Antony plundered the 
villa. I will only add that Varro had here 
an extensive museum of curious objects of 
nature and art, and many strange animals 
from foreign lands, with which he some- 

times supplied the circus in Rome on great 
show days. 

I expect to stay here until the next spring, 
having leave of absence from Agricola, ancl 
the permission of the emperor to do so. 
This letter I send by the hand of Cains Sul- 
pitius, a trusty freedman, who will start two 
days hence with imperial dispatches for the 
governor. Another messenger will leave 
at about the beginning of the vintage, when 
I will send you another letter, in which I 
will tell you more about the home life of 
these Romans : their manner of dressing, 
both men and women ; their personal adorn- 
ments, domestic employments, courtships, 
weddings, funerals, amusements and other 
things that may interest you. 
Salute all our friends. 

Vale ! Cad ALLAN. 





TT7HATEVER Lady Sarah may have 
▼ T thought, Mrs. Palmer used to consider 
Dolly a most fortunate girl, and she used ta 
say so, not a little to Lady Sarah's annoy- 

"Extremely fortunate," repea.ts Dolly's 
mamma, looking thoughtfully at her fat 
satin shoes. " What a lottery life is ! I was 
a« pretty as Dolly, and yet dear Staiiham 
had not any thing like Robert's excellent 
prospects. Even the Ad — Don't go, Sa- 

Poor Lady Sarali would start up, with an 
impatient movement, and walk across the 

room to get away from Philippa's retrospec- 
tions. They were almost more than she had 
patience for just then. She could scarcely 
have found patience for Philippa herself, if 
it had not been that she was Dolly's* moth- 
er. What did she mean by her purrings 
and self-congratulatious ? Lady Sarah used 
to feel most doubtful about Dolly's good 
fortune just when Philippa Avas most enthu- 
siastic on the subject, or when Robert him- 
self was pointing out his excellent prospects 
in his lucid way. 

Philippa would listen, nodding languid 
approbation Dolly would make believe to 
laugh at Robert's accounts of his coming 
honors ; but it was easy to see that it was 
only make-believe incredulity. 

Her aunt could read the girl's sweet con- 
viction in her eyes, and she loved her for it. 
Once, remembering her own youth, this fan- 
tastic woman had made a vow never, so long 
as she lived, to interfere in the course of 
true love True love! Is this true love, 
when one person is in love with a i^hantom, 
another with an image reflected in a glass ? 
True love is something more than phantoms, 
than images and shadows ; and yet, stirred 
by phantoms and living among shadows, its 
faint dreams come to life. 

Lady Sarah was standing by the book- 
case, in a sort of zigzag mind of her own 
old times and of Dolly's to-day. She had 
taken a l)Ook from the shelf— a dusty vol- 
ume of Burns's poems — upon the lly-lcaf of 
which the name of another Jiobcrt Ilcnlry 
was written. She holds the book in^ her 
hand, looks at the croolunl writing — " S. V., 
from Rol)ert H(!nley, May, 1808." She beats 
the two dusty covers together, and i)uts it 
back into its place again. That is all her 
story. Philij)i)a never heard of it; Robert 



never heard of it, nor did ho know that Lady 
Sarah loved his name — whieh Jiad heen his 
father's too — better than she loved him. 
"Perhaps her hapi)iness had all gone to 
Dolly," the widow thought, as she stood, 
with a troubled sort of smile on her face, 
looking at the two young people through 
a pane of glass ; and then, like a good wom- 
an as she is, tries to silence her misgivings 
into a little prayer for their happiness. 
Let us do justice to the reluctant prayers 

that people offer up. They are not the less 
true because they are half-hearted, and be- 
cause those who pray would sometimes glad- 
ly be spared an answer to their petitions. 
Poor Lady Sarah ! her prayers seemed too 
much answered as she watched Dollv dav 
by day mor(> and more radiant and absorbe^l. 

"My dear creature, what are you doing 
with all those dusty books ? Can yon see 
our young ])eo}de ?" says INIrs. Palmer, lan- 
guidly looking over her arm-chair. " I ex- 




pect Colonel Witheriugtou this afteruoon. 
He admires Dolly excessively, Sarah ; and 
I really think he might have proposed, if 
Eobert had not been so determined to carry 
her off. You dear old thing, forgive me ; I 
don't believe she would ever have married 
at all if I had not come home. You are in 
the clouds, you know. I remember saying 
so to HaAvtry at Trincomalee. I should 
have disowned her if she had turned out an 
old maid. I know it. I detest old maids. 
The Admiral has a perfect craze for them, 
and they all adore him. I should like you 
to see Miss Macgrudder — there never was 
RTiy thing so ludicrous, asthmatic, sentiment- 
al — frantic. We must introduce Miss Moi- 
neaux to him, and the Morgan girls. I oft- 
en wonder how he ever came to marry a 
widow, and I tell him so. It was a great 
mistake. Can you believe it ? — Hawtry now 
writes that second marriages are no mar- 
riages at all. Perhaps you agree with him ? 
I'm sure Dolly is quite ready to do so. I 
never saw a girl so changed — never. We 
have lost her, my dear ; make up your mind 
to it. She is Eobert, not Dolly any more — 
no thought for any one else, not for me, dear 
child! And don't you flatter yourself she 
will ever Dear me ! Gone ? What an ex- 
traordinary creature poor Sarah is ! touched, 
certainly ; and such a wet blanket !" 

Mrs. Palmer, rising from her corner, floats 
across the room, sweeping over several foot- 
stools and small tables on her way. She 
goes to the window, and not caring to be 
alone, begins to tap with her diamond finger 
upon the pane, to summon the young couple, 
who pay not the slightest attention. For- 
tunately the door opens, and Colonel With- 
erington is announced. He is a swarthy 
man, with shiny boots, a black mustache ; 
his handkerchief is scented with Esse bou- 
quet, which immediately permeates the 
room ; he wears tight dog-skin glove.s and 
military shirt collars. Lady Sarah thinks 
him vulgar and odious beyond words ; Mrs. 
Palmer is charmed to see him, and gracious- 
ly holds out her white hand. She is used 
to his adoration, and accepts it with a cer- 
tain swan-like indifference. 

Peoi)le had different opinions about Mrs. 
Palmer. In some circles she was considered 
brilliant and accomplished; in others, silly 
and affected. Colonel Witherington never 
vSpoke of her except with military honors. 
" Charming woman," he would say ; " highly 
cultivated; you might give her five-and- 
tw(5nty at tlie outside. Utterly lost upon 
that spluttering old psalm-singing Palmer. 
Psalms are all very well in their proper i)lace 
— in the prayer-books, or in church ; but aft- 
er dinner, when one has got a go()d cigar, and 
feels inclined for a little pleasant conversa- 
tion, it is not the time to ring tlie l)ell for the 
servants, and have 'em down ujion their 
knees all of a row, and up again in five min- 
VoL. XLVI.— No. 271.— 6 

utes to listen to an extempore sermon. The 
Admiral runs on like a clock. I used to stay 
with them at the Admiralty House. Pity 
that poor woman most heartily ! Can't think 
how she keeps up as she does !" 

Little brown Lady Henley at Smoke- 
thwaite would not have sympathized with 
Colonel Witherington's admiration. She 
made a point of shrugging her shoulders 
whenever she heard I'hilippa's name men- 
tioned. " If you ask me," she would say, 
"I must frankly own that my sister-in-law 
is not to be depended on. She is utterly 
selfish ; she only lives for the admiration of 
gentlemen. My brother Hawtry is a warm- 
hearted, impulsive man, who would have 
made any woman happy. If he lias looked 
for consolation in his domestic trials, and 
found it in religious interests, it is not I who 
would blame him. Sir Thomas feels as I do, 
and deeply regrets Philippa's deplorable fri- 
volity. I do not know much of that poor 
girl of hers. I have no doubt Robert has 
been dazzled by mother and daughter. They 
are good-looking, and, as I am told, thorough- 
ly well understand the art of setting them- 
selves off' to the best advantage. I am fimd 
of Eobert Henley, but I can not pretend to 
have any feeling for Dorothea one way or 
another. We have asked them here, of 
course. They are to come after their mar- 
riage. I only hope my sister-in-law appre- 
ciates her daughter's good luck, and has the 
sense to know the value of such a man as 
Eobert Henley." 

Mrs. Palmer was perfectly enchanted with 
her future son-in-law. He could scarcely get 
rid of her. Eobert, with some discomposure, 
would find himself sitting on his aunt's sofa, 
hand in hand, listening to long and very un- 
pleasant extracts from her correspondence. 

You dear boy !" Mrs. Palmer would say, 
with her soft, fat fingers firmly clasped round 
his, " you have done me good. Your dear 
head is able to advise my poor perplexed 
heart. Dolly, he is my prop. I give you up, 
my child, gladly, to this dear fellow !" These 
little compliments mollified the young man 
1 at first, although he found that by degrees 
j the tax of his aunt's constant dependence 
became heavier and heavier. Briareus him- 
self could scarcely have supplied arms to 
support her unsparing weakness, to hand licr 
jiarcels and footstools about, to carry lu r 
shawls and cushions, and to sort the packets 
i of her correspondence. She had tlie Adnii- 
I ral's letters, and tied up with various col- 
ored ribbons, and docketed, "Cruel," " Mod- 
erately Abusive," " Ajmlogetic," " Canting," 
"Business." She was always sending for 
Eobert. Her playful tap at the wiudow 
mad(; him feel quite nervous. 

Mrs. Palmer had Ix^guu to knit, him a pjiir 
of nnifiatees, and used slowly to twist pink 
silk round ivory needles. Lady Henley 
I laughed very loud when she heard this. 



" Poor Robert ! Ho will have to pay dearly 
for those mittcDS," she said. 

For a loii<; time past Mrs. Palmer had rare- 
ly left the house, but the trousseau now be- 
gan to absorb her ; she used to go driving 
for long hours at a time with Dolly in a 
jaded liy ; she would invite Robert to ac- 
company them — to Baker Street Bazar, to 
Soho Square, to St. Paul's Church-yard, back 
again to Oxford Street, a corner shop of 
which she had forgotten the number. On 
one occasion, after trying three or four cor- 
ner shops, Robert called to the coachman to 
stop, and jumped out. I think Dolly and 
I will walk home," he said, abruptly; "Pm 
afraid you must give up your shop, Aunt 
Philippa. It is impossible to find the place." 

Poor Dolly, Avho was longing to escape, 
brightened up, but before she could speak 
Mrs. Palmer had grasped her tightly by both 
hands. " My dear Robert, what a proposal ! 
I could not think of letting Dolly walk all 
the way home. She would be quite done up. 
And it is her business, her shopping, you 
know." Then, reproachfully and archly, 
" And I must say that even the Admiral would 
scarcely have deserted us so ungallantly, 
with all this work on our hands, and all 
these parcels, and no servant. You dear fel- 
low, you really must not leave us." 

Robert stood holding the door open, and 
looking particularly black. "I am very 
sorry indeed," he said, with a short laugh, 
"but you will be quite safe, my dear aunt, 
and you really seem to have done enough 
shopping to last for many years to come." 
And he put out his hand as a matter of course, 
to help Dorothea to alight. 

" But she can not leave me," says Philippa, 
excitedly ; " she would not even wish it. 
Would you, my child ? I never drive alone 
— never ; I am afraid of the coachman. It is 
most unreasonable to propose such a thing." 

" I will answer for your safety," persisted 
Robert. " My dear aunt, you must get used 
to doing without your Dolly now. Come, 
Dora, the walk will freshen you up." 

" But I don't want to walk, Robert," said 
poor Dolly, with a glance at her mother. 
"You may come for me to-morrow instead. 
You will, won't you ?" she added, as he sud- 
denly turned away without answering, and 
she leaned out of the carriage window, and 
called after him, a little frightened by his 
black looks and silence. "Robert! I shall 
expect you," she said. 

" I shall not be able to come to-morrow, 
Dora," said Henley, very gravely ; and then, 
raising his hat, ho walked off without an- 
other word. 

Even then Dolly could not believe that he 
was seriously angry. She saw him striding 
along the pavement, and called to him, and 
made a friendly little sign with her hand as 
the brougham passed close by a place where 
he was waiting to cross the road. Robert 

did not seem to see either the brougham 
or the kind face inside that was smiling at 
him. Dorothea's eyes suddenly tilled up 
with tears. 

"Boorish! boorish!" cried Mrs. Palmer, 
putting up both hands. " Robert is like all 
other men ; they leave you at any moment, 
Dolly — that is my experience, bitterly gain- 
ed — without a servant even, and I have 
ever so much more to do. There is Par- 
kins and Gotto's for India-paper. If only I 
had known that he was going to be so rude, 
I should have asked for old* Sam." Mrs. 
Palmer was still greatly discomposed. " Pray 
put up that window, Dolly," she said, " and 
I do wish you would attend to those x)arcels 
— they are all falling off the seat." 

Dolly managed to wink away her tears as 
she bent over the parcels. Forgive her for 
crying ! This was her first quarrel with 
Robert, if quarrel it could be called. She 
thought it over all the way home ; surely 
she had been right to do as her mother 
wished ! Why was Robert vexed ? 

Philippa was in a very bad humor all that 
evening. She talked so pathetically of a 
mother's feelings, and of the pangs of part- 
ing from her child, that Lady Sarah for once 
was quite sorry for her — she got a little 
shawl to i3ut over Philipija's feet as she lay 
beating a tattoo upon the sofa. As for Dol- 
ly, she had gone to bed early, very silent 
and out of spirits. 

That evening's post brought a couple of 
letters : one was from George to his mother, 
written in his cranky, blotted handwriting : 

" Cambridge ; All-Saints College. 

"Dearkst Mamma, — I am coming up for a couple 
of days. I have, strange as it may sound, been work- 
ing too hard. Tell Aunt Sarah. Love to Dolly. 
" Yours affectionately, George." 

The other was for Dolly, and Marker took 
it up to her in her room. This letter flowed 
in even streams of black uj)on the finest hot- 
pressed j)aper. 

"Dearest Dora, — I was much disappointed that 
you would not come with me, and condemned me to 
that solitary walk. I hope that a day may come, be- 
fore very long, when your duty and your pleasures 
may seem less at variance to you than at present; 
otherwise I can see little chance of happiness in our 
future life. Yours, R. V. H." 

" Was he still vexed ?" Dolly, who had 
relented the moment she saw the handwrit- 
ing, wrote him a little note that evening by 
moonlight, and asked Marker to post it. 

" I could not leave mamn)a all alone," she wrote. " I 
wanted to walk home with you— couldn't you see that 
I did? I shall expect you to come to luncheon to- 
morrow, and we will go wherever you like. D." 

Dolly lay awake after this for a loug moon- 
light hour. She was living in what people 
call the world of feeling. She was absorbed, 
she was happy, but it was a happiness with 
a reserve in it. It was peace, iudeed, but 
Dolly was too young, her life had been too 



easy, for peace to be all-siifficieut to her. 
She had found out by her new experience 
that Robert loved her, but in future that he 
would rule her too. In her life, so free 
hitherto, there would be this secret rule to 
be obeyed, this secret sign. Dolly did not 
know whether on the whole she liked the 
thought, or whether she resented it. She 
had never spoken of it, even to Robert. 
" You see you have to do as you are told," 
Henley sometimes said ; he meant it in fun, 
but Dorothea instinctively felt that there 
was truth in his words — ho was a man who 
held his own. He was not to be changed 
by an impulse. Dolly, conscious of some 
hidden weakness in her own nature, deified 
obstinacy, as many a woman has done before 
her, and made excuses out of her own loving 
heart for Henley's selfish one. 

It was summer still, though August had 
come again ; the Virginian creexiers along 
the west wall glowed; crimson-tinted leaves 
fell in golden rain — the gardener swept up 
golden dollars and fairy money into heaps 
and carted them away ; the geraniums put 
out shoots ; the creepers started off upon 
excursions along the gravel-paths ; it was a 
comfortable old-fashioned world, deep-col- 
ored, russet-tinted, but the sun was hot still 
and burning, and Dolly dressed herself in 
white, and listened to every bell. 

The day passed, however, without any 
sign of Robert, or any word from him. But 
George walked in just as they were sitting 
down to luncheon. Ho looked very pale 
and yellow, and he had black lines under 
his eyes. He had been staying down at 
Cambridge, actually reading for a scholar- 
ship that Raban had advised his trying for. 
It was called the Bulbul scholarship) for Ori- 
ental lansua^es, and it had been founded 
by an enlightened Parsee, who had traveled 
in Europe in shiny boots and an oil-skin hat, 
and who had been so well received at Cam- 
bridge that he wished to perpetuate his 
name there. 

George had taken u^) Persian some time 
ago, when he should have been reading 
mathematics. He was fond of quoting the 
"Roubaiyiit" of Omar Khayyam, of which 
the beautiful English version had lately ap- 
peared. It W'ds this x>oem, indeed, which 
had set him to study the original. He had 
a turn for languages, and a fair chance of 
success, Raban said, if he would only go to 
bed, and not sit uj) all night with soda-water 
and wet towels round his head. This time 
he had nearly made himself ill by sitting up 
three nights in succession, and the doctor 
had sent him home for a holiday. "My 
dear child, what a state your complexion is 
in! How ill you look!" said his mother. 
"It is all those horrid examinations !" 

Restless George wandered out into the. 
garden after dinner, and Dolly followed hiiri. 
She began to water her roses in the cool of 

the evening, and George filled the cans with 
water from the tank and brought them to 
her. Spjlashing and overflowing, the water 
lapped into the dry Qarth and washed the 
baked stems of the rose-trees. George said 
suddenly, "Dolly, do you ever see Raban 
now, and do you still snub him?" 

"I don't snub him," said Dolly, blushing. 
" He does not approve of me, George. He is 
so bitter, and he never seems satisfied." 

George began to recite — 

"'Ah, love! could you and I with fate conspire 
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire, 

Would we not shatter it to bits, and then 
Remould it nearly to the Heart's Desire ?' 

There is Robert at last, Dolly." 

Dolly looked wonderingly at her brother. 
Ho had spoken so pointedly that she could 
not help wondering what he meant ; but the 
next moment she had sprung forward to 
meet Henley, with a sweet face alight. 

" Oh, Robert, why have you been so long- 
coming ?" she said. " Did you not get my 
note ?" 



The wedding was fixed for the middle of 
September. In October they were to sail. 

Dolly was to be married at the Kensing- 
ton parish church. Only yesterday the brown 
church was standing — to-day a white phenix 
is rising from its ashes. The old i)eople and 
the old prayers seem to be passing away with 
the brown walls. One wonders as one looks 
at the rising arches what new tides of feel- 
ing will sweep beneath them, what new 
teachings and petitions, what more instant 
charity, what more practical faith and hope. 
One would be well content to see the old 
gates fall if one might deem that these new 
ones were no longer to be confined by bolts 
of human adax)tation, against which, day 
by day, the divine decrees of mutation and 
progress strike with blows that are vibrating 
through the aisles, drowning the voice of the 
teachers, jarring with the prayers of the 

As the doors open wide the congregations 
of this practical age in the eternity of ages 
see on the altars of to-day the new visions 
of the time. Unlike those of the fervent and 
mystical past, when kneeling anchorites be- 
held, in answer to their h)nging praycirs, 
X)itiful saints crowned with roses and radi- 
ant with light, and, vanisliing away, visions 
of hearts on fire and the sacred stigmata, the 
rewards of their life-long penance ; to-day, 
the Brother whom we have seen appears to 
us in the place of symbols of that which it 
hath not entered into tlie heart of man to 
conceive. The teaching of tlie- Teach(!r, as 
w(; understand it now, is tratislated into a 
new langnage of daily toil and human sym- 



patliy ; our saiuts are the sinners helped out 
of the mire ; our visions do not vanish ; our 
heavenly music comes to us in the voices of 
the school-children : surely it is as sweet as 
any that ever reached the enraptured ears of 
penitents in their cells. 

If people are no longer on their knees as 
they once were, and if some are afraid and 
cry out that the divine images of our faith 
are waxiug dimmer in their niches — if in the 
Calvaries of these modern times we still see 
truth blasphemed, thieves waiting on their 
crosses of ignorance and crime, sick people 
crying for lielj), and children weeping bitter- 
ly — why should we be afraid if people, rising 
from their knees, are setting to their day's 
work with honest and loving hearts, and go- 
ing, instead of saying, " I go," and remain- 
ing and crying, " Lord, Lord." 

Once Dolly stopped to look at the gates as 
she was walking by, thinking, not of church 
reform, in those old selfish days of hers, but 
of the new life that was so soon to begin for 
her behind those baize doors, among the 
worm-eaten pews and the marble cherubs, 
under the window, with all the leaden- 
patched panes diverging. She looked, flush- 
ed up, gathered her gray skirts out of the 
mud, and went on with her companion. 

The old days were still going on, and she 
was the old Dolly that she was used to. 
But there was this difference now : at any 
time, at any hour, coming into a room sud- 
denly, she never knew but that she might 
find a letter, a summons, some sign of the 
new existence and interests that were crowd- 
ing upon her. She scarcely believed in it all 
at times ; but she was satisfied. She was 
walking with her hand on Robert's strong- 
arm. She could trust to Robert — she could 
trust herself. She sometimes wondered to 
find herself so calm. Robert assured her 
that, when people really loved each other, it 
was always so ; they were always calm ; and, 
no doubt, he was right. 

The two were walking along the Sunday 
street on their way to St. Paul's. Family 
groups and prayer-books wore about ? mar- 
ket-carts, x)acked with smiles and ribbons, 
were driving out in a long train toward the 
river. Bells far and near were ringing fit- 
fully. There is no mistaking the day as it 
comes round, bringing with it a little ease 
into the strain of life, a thought of peace 
and home-meeting and rest, and the echo 
of a psalm outside in the City streets, as 
w^ell as within its churches. 

Robert called a hansom, and they drove 
rapidly along the road toward town. The 
drifting clouds and lights across the parks 
and streets made them look changed from 
their usual aspect. As they left the sub- 
urbs and drove on toward the City, Henley 
laughed at Dorothea's enthusiasm for the 
wet streets, of which the muddy stones 
were reflecting the lights of a torn and 

stormy sky. St. Clement's spire rose sharp 
against a cloud, the river rolled, fresh 
blown by soft winds, toward the east, while 
the lights fell upon the crowding house- 
tops and spires. Dolly thought of her 
moonlight drive with her mother. Now 
every thing was alight and awake again, 
she alone was dreaming, perhaps. As they 
went up a steep crowded hill the horse's 
feet slipped at every step. " Don't be afraid, 
Dora," said Robert, protectingly. Then they 
were driving up a straighter and wider street, 
flooded with this same strange light, and they 
suddenly saw a solemn sight — of domes and 
spii-es nprearing; of mist, of stormy sky. 
There rose the mighty curve, majestically 
flung against the dome of domes! The 
mists drifting among these mountains and 
pinnacles of stone only seemed to make 
them more stately. 

" Robert, I never knew how beautiful it 
was," said Dolly. "How glad I am we 
came! Look at that great dome and the 
shining sky. It is like — ' See how high the 
heavens are in comparison with the earth.' " 

" I forget the exact height," said Robei-t. 
" It is between three and four hundred feet. 
You see the ball up at the toj) — they say that 
twenty-four people — " 

"I know all that, Robert," said Dolly, 
impatiently. " What does it matter ?" 

"I thought it might interest you," said 
Robert, slightly huffed, "since you appear 
to be so little acquainted with St. Paul's. 
It is very fine, of course ; but I myself have 
the bad taste to prefer Gothic architecture ; 
it is far more suitable to our church. There 
is something painfully — how shall I express 
it ? — paganish about these capitals and pi- 

"But that is just what I mean," said 
Dolly, looking him full in the face. " Think 
of the beautiful old thoughts of the pagans 
helping to pile up a cathedral here now. 
Don't you think," she said, hesitating, and 
blushing at her own boldness, "that it is 
like a voice from a long way off coming and 
harmonizing now with ours ? Robert, imag- 
ine building a curve that will make some 
one happy thousands of years afterward — " 

" I am glad it makes you hai)py, my dear 
Dorothea. I tell you I have the bad taste 
not to admire St. Paul's," Robert repeated. 
" But here is the rain ; we had better make 

They had come to an opening in the iron 
railings by this time, and Robert led the 
way — a stately figure — climbing the long 
flight of weather-worn steps that go cir- 
cling to the peristyle. Dolly followed slow- 
ly : as she ascended tlie lights seemed to up- 
rise, the columns to stand out more boldly. 

" Come in," Robert said, lifting up the 
heavy leather curtain. 

Dolly gave one look at the city at her 
feet, flashing with the many lights and 




shadows of the impending storm, and then 
she followed him into the great cathedral. 

They were late. The evening service was 
already begun, and a voice was chanting 
and ringing from column to column. " Re- 
joice in the Lord alway," it sang, "and 
again I say, again I say unto you, rejoice! 
rejoice!" A number of people were stand- 
ing round a grating listening to the voice ; 
but an old verger, pleased with the looks 
of the two young people, beckoned to them 
and showed them up a narrow stair into a 
little oaken gallery, whence they could look 
down upon the echoing voice and the great 
crowd of people listening to it : many lights 
were burning, for it was already dark with- 
in the building. Here a light fell, there the 
shadow threw some curve into sudden re- 
lief; the rolling mist that hung beyond the 
distant aisles and over the heads seemed like 
a veil, and added to the mystery. The mu- 
sic, the fire, the arches overhead, made Dol- 
ly's heart throb. The cathedral itself seem- 
ed like a great holy heart beating in the 
midst of the city. Once, when Dolly was a 
child in the green ditch, her heart had over- 
flown with hapi)iness and gratitude ; here 
she was a woman, and the future had not 
failed her; here were love and faith to 
make her life complete — all the vibration 
of fire and music, and the flow of harmo- 
nious lines, to express what was beyond 

" Oh ! Robert, what have we done to be 
so happy ?" she whispered, when the service 
was over and they were coming away in the 
crowd. " It almost frightens me," the girl 

Robert did not hear her at first ; he was 
looking over the peox)le's heads, for the 
clouds had come down and the rain was 
falling heavily. 

"Frighten you," said Robert, presently, 
opening his umbrella. " Take my arm, Dol- 
ly : what is there to frighten you ? I don't 
suppose we are any happier than other peo- 
ple under the same circumstances. Come 
this way, let us get out of the crowd." 

Robert led the girl down a narrow lane 
closed by an iron gate. It looked dark and 
indistinct, althougli the west still shone with 
changing lights. Dolly stood up under a 
doorway, while the young man walked away 
down the wet flags to look for a cab to take 
them home. The rain fell upon the pave- 
ment, upon the stone steps where Dolly was 
standing, and with fresh cheeks blooming 
in the mist, and eyes still alight with the 
radiance and beauty of the psalm she had 
been singing in her heart. "I don't sup- 
pose we are any happier than other people." 
She wished Robert had not said that ; it 
seemed cold, ungrateful almost. The psalm 
in her ears began to die away to tlic dull 
patter of the rain as it fell. What was it 
that came to Dolly as she stood in the twi- 

light of the doorway — a sudden chill com- 
ing she knew not from whence — some one 
light put out on the altar ? 

Dolly, strung to some high quivering 
pitch, felt a sudden terror. It was noth- 
ing ; a doubt of a doubt — a fear of a ten-or 
— fearing what — doubting whom ? 

"The service was very well performed," 
said Robert, coming up. " I have got you 
a cab." He helped her in, and then, as ho 
seated himself beside her, began again: 
"We shall not have many more opportu- 
nities of attending the cathedral service 
before we start." 

Dolly was very silent ; Robert talked on. 
He wondered at her seeming want of inter- 
est, and yet he had only talked to her about 
her plans and things that she must have 
cared to hear. " I shall know definitively 
about our start to-morrow or the day aft- 
er," he said, as the cab drew up at the door 
of Church House. Poor Dolly ! She let him 
go into the drawing-room alone, and ran up 
to her own little nest up stairs. The thought 
of the possible nearness of her departure had 
suddenly overwhelmed her. When it was 
still far ofi" she had never thought about it. 
Now she sat down on the low window-sill, 
leaned her head against the shutter, and 
watched the last light die out above the 
ivy wall. The garden shadows thickened; 
the night gathered slowly ; Dolly's heart 
beat sadly, oh ! how sadly. What hopeless 
feeling was this that kept coming over her 
again and again ? coming she knew not from 
what recesses of the empty room, from be- 
hind the fleeting clouds, from the secret 
chambers of her traitorous heart ? The 
voice did not cease persecuting. " So much 
of you that lives now," it said, " will die 
when you merge your life into Robert's. 
So much love will be more than he will 
want. He takes but a part of what you 
have to give." The voice was so distinct 
that she wondered whether Marker, who 
came in to put away her things, would 
hear it. Did she love Robert ? Of course 
she loved him. There was his ring upon 
her finger. She could hear his voice sound- 
ing from the hall below Were they not 

going oft' alone together to a lonely life, 
across a tempestuous sea? For a moment 
she stood lost, and forgetting that her feet 
were still upon the home hearth, and that 
the far-off sea was still beating upon distant 
shores. Then she started up impatiently, 
she would not listen any more. With a pnsli 
to the door she shut her doubts up in the 
cupboard where she was used to hang her 
cloak, and then she came slowly down the 
v\^ood(;n stairs to the oak room below. 

Dolly found a candle alight, a good di^al 
of darkness, some conversation, a sofa drawn 
out with her mamma reposing upon it, Rob- 
ert writing at a table to Mrs. I'almer's dicta 



" My child," said Mrs. Palmer, " come here. 
You have been to St. Paul's. I have been 
alone the whole afternoon. Your aunt Sarah 
never comes near me. I am now getting 
this dear fijilow to write and order a room 
for us at Kingston. I told you of my little 
plan. He is making all the arrangements. 
It is to be a little festa on my husband's birth- 
day — shall Ave say Tuesday, if line, Robert ? 
The Admiral will hear of it, and understand 
that we do not forget him. People say I 
have no resentment in my nature," said 
Mrs. Palmer, with a smile. " It is as well, 
perhaps, that I should leave untasted a few 
of the bitter dregs of my hard lot. My spir- 
it is quite broken," continued Mrs. Palmer, 
cheerfully. " Give me that small hand- 
screen, Dolly. Have you w^ritten to Ra- 
ban, Robert ? My George would wish him 

" Oh, don't let us have Raban, Aunt Phi- 
lippa," said Robert. " There will be Mor- 
gan and George and Colonel Witherington 
and myself, and your little friend Rhoda will 
like to come — and any one else ?" 

^' I am thankful to say that Mrs. Morgan 
and those dreadful two girls are going into 
the country for two days ; that is one reason 
for fixing upon Tuesday," says Mrs. Palmer. 
" I don't want them, Dolly dearest. Really 
the society your poor aunt lives in is some- 
thing too ludicrous. She will be furious ; I 
have not dared tell her, poor creature. I 
have accepted an invitation for you on 
Wednesday. Colonel Witherington's sister, 
in Hyde Park Gardens, has a large dinner- 
party. She has asked us all three in the 
kindest manner. Colonel Witherington call- 
ed himself with the note this afternoon. I 
wanted him to stay to dinner. I'm afraid 
your aunt was vexed. Robert, while you 
are about it, just write a line for us all to 
Mrs. Middleton." 

Robert wrote Mrs. Palmer's notes, sealed 
and stamped them, and, between whiles, 
gave a cheerful little description of their 
expedition. " Dolly was delighted with 
the service," said he ; " but I am afraid 
she is a little tired." Then he got up and 
pulled an arm-chair for her uji to the fire, 
and then he went back and finished putting 
up Mrs. Palmer's correspondence. He was 
80 8i)ecially kind that evening, cheerful, and 
nice to Mrs. Palmer, doing her behests so 
cleverly and naturally, that Dolly forgot 
her terrors, and wondered what evil spirit 
had possessed her. She began to feel warm 
and happy once more, and hopeful, and she 
was unafiectedly sorry when Henley got up 
and said he must go. 

He was no sooner gone and the door shut 
than Mrs. Palmer said, languidly, " 1 think I 
should like Frank Raban to be asked, poor 
fellow. It Avill please Rhoda, at all events. 
Just write, dear." 

Dolly blushed up crimson. She had not 

seen him since that curious little talk she 
had had with George. 

" But Robert doesn't want it, mamma," 
said Dolly. 

" Nonsense, child. I want it. Robert is 
not your husband yet," said Mrs. Palmer; 
" and if he were — " 

" Shall I bring you a pen and ink ?" Dolly 
asked, shyly. 

"Just do as I tell you, dearest," said her 
mother, crossly. " Write, ' Dear Mr. Raban, 
my mother desires me to write and tell you 
with what pleasure she would welcome you 
on Tuesday next, if you would join a small 
expedition we are meditating, a water-party, 
in honor of Admiral Palmer's fifty-seventh 

" That is not a bit like one of my letters," 
said Dolly, finishing quickly. " Where can 
Aunt Sarah be ?" 

" I am sure I don't know, my dear. She 
left in the rudest manner when Withering- 
ton called. I have seen nothing of her." 

Lady Sarah was sitting up stairs alone — 
oh, how alone ! — in the cheerless bedroom 
overhead, where she used to take her griefs 
and her sad mistrusts. They seemed to hang 
from the brown faded curtains by the win- 
dow; they seemed to haunt all round the 
bed, among its washed-out draperies ; they 
were ranged along the tall chimney-piece in 
bottles. Here is " morphia" and chlorodyne, 
or its equivalent of those days ; here is " the 
liniment" — liniment for a strained heart ! 
chloroform for anxious love ! Are not each 
one of those the relics of one or another 
wound, reopening again and again with the 
strains of the present ? Sarah's hands are 
clasped and her head is bent forward as 
she sits in this half darkness — leaden gray 
without, chill wdthin — by the emx)ty hearth. 
Did Robert love Dolly ? Had he love in him ? 
Had she been right to see him through Dol- 
ly's eyes ? 

Just then the door opens, and Dolly, flushed, 
brightening the dull twilight, comes into the 

" Come down directly, you wicked wom- 
an," she says. " You will be catching cold 
here all by yourself." 



How sweet they are, those long sunset 
evenings on the river! The stream, flow- 
ing by swift and rippling, reflects the sky : 
sometimes, in the still gleams and depths of 
dying light, it would seem as if the sky it- 
S(df reflected the waters. The distant woods 
stand out in bronzed shadow ; low sunset 
fires burn into dusk beyond the fringe of 
trees; sudden sweet glooms fall upon the 
boats as they glide in and out by dim creeks 



and ridges. Perhaps some barge travels past 
througti the twilight, drawn by horses tramp- 
ing along the towing-path, and diagging 
against the sky. As the boats float shore- 
ward peaceful sights and sounds are all 
about, borne upon the flowing water. 

" I am so sorry it is over/' said Dolly, ty- 
in": on her straw hat. 

The sun was setting, a little star was 
shining overhead, the last bird had flown 
home to its nest. Robert pushed them right 
through a bed of rustling reeds on their way 
to the landing-place. It was crowded with 
dancing boats ; many people were standing 
along the shore ; the gables of the " Red 
Lion" had been all aglow for a few minutes 
past. They could hear the laugh of a boat- 
ing party scrambling to land. Here and 
there heads wxre peeping from the bridge, 
from the landing-places and windows ; some 
twinkled with the last sunset gleams, others 
with lights already burning. Dolly had been 
silent for the last half hour, scarcely listen- 
ing to its desultory talk. They had ex- 
changed broadsides with George and John 
Morgan in the other boat ; but by degrees 
that vigorously manned craft had outrun 
them, rounded a corner, and left them float- 
ing mid-stream. Robert was in no hurry, 
and Frank was absent, and sometimes al- 
most forgot to row. Looking up now and 
then, he saw Dolly's sweet face beaming be- 
neath her loose straw hat, with Hampton 
Court and all its prim terraces for a back- 

" You are not doing your share of the work, 
Raban, by any means," said Robert, laboring, 
and not overpleased. 

" Oh, let US float," murmured Mrs. Palmer. 
She was leaning over the side of the boat, 
weighing it heavily down, and dabbling one 
fat white hand in the water ; with the other 
she was clasping Dolly's stiff young fingers. 
" Truant children !" she said, " you don't know 
your own happiness. How w^ell I remember 
one evening just like this, Dolly, when your 
papa and I were floating down the Hoogly ; 
and now that I think of it, my Admiral 
Palmer Avas with us — he was captain then. 
How little wo cither of us thought in those 
days ! The Palmers .are so close, one Jieeds a 
lifetime to understand their ways. I should 
like to show you a letter, Mr. Raban, that I 
received only this morning from my sister- 
in-law, Joanna. Was that a fish or a little 
bit of stick ? Sweet calm ! Robert, I am 
thankful you have never been entangled l)y 
one of those ugly girls at Smokethwaite. I 
know Joanna and her — " 

"There Avas never any thought, I assure 
you," interrupted Robert, not displeased, and 
unable to refrain from disclaiming the accu- 
sation. "My aunt has always been most 
kind ; she would never have wished to infiu- 
ence my inclinations. She is very much tried 
just now, parting from Jonah, who joins his 

regiment immediately. They are coming up 
to London with him next Saturday." 

" Ah, I know Avhat it is to part from one's 
child," said Philippa, tapping Dolly's fingers. 
" I am glad to hear Joanna shows any feel- 
ing. My Dolly, if it were not to Robert, 
who is so thoughtful, should I be able to 
bear the thought of parting from you ? Take 
care — pray take care I You arc running into 
this gentleman's boat! Push off — push off! 
Ah ! ah ! thank you, Mr. Raban. Look, there 
is John Morgan. I wish he were here to 
steer us." 

" Don't be frightened, dear," said Dolly, 
still holding her mother's hand, as the little 
rocking boat made toward the steps, where 
John Morgan was standing welcoming them 
all with as much heartiness as if they were 
returning from some distant journey, and 
had not met for years. Some people reserve 
themselves for great occasions, instead of 
spending their sympathies lavishly along the 
way. Good old John certainly never spared v 
either sympathy or the expression of his 
hearty good-will. I don't know that the 
peo^ile who sometimes smiled at his honest 
exuberances found that he was less reliable 
when greater need arose because he had 
been kind day after day about nothing at 
all. He saved Mrs. Palmer from a ducking 
on this occasion as she precipitately flung 
herself out of the boat on to his toes. Frank 
Raban also jumped on shore. Robert said 
he would take the Sarah Anne back to her 
home in the boat-house. 

" Then I suppose Dolly will have to go 
too," said Mrs. Palmer, archly ; and Dolly, 
with a blush and a smile, s&ttled herself once 
more comfortably on the low ci\shioned seat. 
She looked after her mother trailing up the 
slope, leaning on the curate's arm, and wav- 
ing farewells until they passed by the gar- 
den gate of the inn. Frank Raban was 
slowly following them. Then Dolly and 
Robert were alone, and out on the river 
again. The lightened boat swayed on tlie 
water. The air seemed to freshen, the rip- 
j)les flowed in from a distance, the banks slid 
by. Robert smiled as he bent over the 
sculls. How often Dolly remembered the 
last golden hour that came to her that day 
before the lights had died away out of lujr 
sky, before the waters had risen, before hor 
boat was wrecked, and Robert far away out 
of the reach of her voice ! 

There were many other people coming 
back to the boat-house. The men were ))UHy, 
the landing was crowd(!d, and the Sarah 
Anne had to w^ait her turn. Robert <lislik<'d 
waiting extremely. He also disliked the 
looks of open admiration whirli two canoes 
were casting at the Sarah Anne. 

"There nn^ soiri(^ big HtoncH by the. sliorc, 
Dolly," said Rolxrt. "Do you think yon 
could manage to land ?" 

"Of course I can," said active Dolly; 



" and then you can tie the boat to that green 
stake just beyond them." As she stood up 
to spring on shore, she looked round once 
more. Did some instinct tell her that this 
was the end of it all, and the last of the hap- 
py hours ? She jumped with steady feet on 
to the wet stone, and stood balancing her- 
self for a moment. The water rippled to 
her feet as she stood, with both hands out- 
stretched, and her white dress fluttering, 
and all the light of youth and happiness in 
her radiant face. And then with another 
spring she was on land. 

" Well done !" said one of the canoes. 
Robert turned round with a fierce look. 

When he rejoined Dolly he found her 
looking about in some distress. 

"My ring, my pretty ring, Robert," she 
said ; " I have dropped it." It was a ring he 
had given her the day before. Dolly had at 
last consented to wear one, but this was large 
for her finger. 

" You careless girl," said Robert ; " here 
are your gloves and your handkerchief ? Do 
you know what that ring cost ?" 

" Oh, don't tell me," said Dolly ; " some- 
thing dreadful, I know." And she stood 
penitently watching Robert scrambling back 
into the boat, and overthrowing and thump- 
ing the cushions. And yet, as she stood 
there, it came into her mind how many 
treasures were hers just then, and that of 
them all a ring was that which she could 
best bear to lose. 

One of the canoes had come close into 
shore by this time, and the young man, who 
was paddling with his two spades, called 
out, saying, " Are you looking for any thing ? 
Is it for this?" and carefully putting his 
hand into the water, he pulled out something 
shining. The ring had dropped off Dolly's 
finger as she jumped, and was lying on a 
stone that was half in and haK out of the 
water, and near to the big one upon which 
she had been standing. 

" How very fortunate !" exclaimed Henley 
from the boat. 

Miss Vanborough was pleased to get back 
her pretty trinket, and thanked the young 
man with a very becoming blush. 

"It is a very handsome coral," Robert 
said ; " it would have been a great pity to 
lose it. We must have it made smaller, 
Dora. It must not come off again." 

Dolly was turning it round thoughtfully, 
and looking at the Medusa head carved and 
set in gold. 

"Robert," she said once more, "does hap- 
piness never frighten you ?" 

" Never," said Henley, smiling, as she look- 
ed up earnestly into his face. 

The old town at Kingston, with its many 
corners and gables, has something of the 
look of a foreign city heaped upon the river- 
side. The garden of the old inn runs down 
with terraces to the water. A side-door 

leads to the boat-houses. By daylight this 
garden is somewhat mouldy; but spiders' 
Avebs do not obtrude on summer evenings, 
and the Londoners who have come out of 
town for a breath of fresh air stroll along 
the terraces, and watch the stream as it 
flows, unconscious of their serenity. They 
come here of summer evenings, and sit out 
in the little arbors, or walk along the ter- 
races and watch the boats drift with the 
stream. If they look to the opposite banks 
they may see the cattle rearing -their horned 
heads upon the sunset, and the distant chest- 
nut groves and galleries of Hampton Court 
at the bend of the river. 

Near the corner of one of these terraces a 
little green weather-cocked summer-house 
stands boldly facing the regattas in their 
season, and beyond it again are a steep bank 
and some steps to a second terrace, from 
whence there is the side-door leading to the 

On this particular evening Frank Raban 
came quietly zigzagging along these terraces, 
perhaps with some vague hope of meeting 
Dorothea on her return. 

There are some years of one's life when one 
is less alive than at others, as there are dif- 
ferent degrees of strength and power to live 
in the course of the same existence. Frank 
was not in the despairing state in which we 
first knew him, but he was not yet as other 
people are, and in hours of dej)ression such 
as this he was used to feel lonely and apart. 
He was used to see other people happy, anx- 
ious, busy, hurrying after one another, and 
he would look on as now, with his hands in 
his pockets, not indifferent, but feeling as if 
Fate had put him down solitary and silent 
into the world — a dumb note (so he used to> 
think) in the great music. And yet he knew 
that the music was there — that mighty hu- 
man vibration which exists independent of 
all the dumb notes, cracked instruments, 
rifted lutes, and broken lyres of which we 
hear so much, and he had but to open his 
ears to it. 

Two voices any thing but dumb were talk- 
ing inside the little summer-house. Raban 
had scarcely noticed them as he came along, 
listening with the vaguest curiosity, as peo- 
ple do, to reproaches and emotions which do 
not concern them ; but presently, as he ap- 
proached the summer-house, a tone struck 
him familiarly, and at the same instant he 
saw a dark figure rush wildly from the little 
wooden house, and leaji right over the side 
of the terrace on to the path below; and 
then Frank recognized the frantic action — 
it could only be George. A moment after- 
ward a woman — he knew her too — came out 
of the summer-house and stood for an in- 
stant panting against the doorway, leaning 
with her two hands against the lintel. She 
looked pale, troubled ; her hair was pushed 
back from her white face ; her eyes looked 


dark, beautiful. Never before had Eaban 
seen Rhoda (for it was Rhoda) so moved. 
When she saw him a faint flush came into 
her cheeks. She came forward a few steps, 
then sho stopped short again. 

She was dragging her silk mantle, which 
had fallen off. One end was trailing after 
her along the gravel. 

" Mr. Rabau, is that you V she said, in an 
agitated way. "Why did you come? Is 
it — is it nearly time to go ? Is Mrs. Palmer 
come back ? Oh, please take me to her !" 
And then she suddenly burst into tears, and 
the long black silk mantle fell to the ground 
as she put out two fluttering hands. 

Raban had flung his cigar over the terrace 
after George. 

" What is it ?" he said, anxiously. " Can 
I help you in any way ? What has hap- 
pened f 

The young man spoke kindly, but in his 
usual matter-of-fact voice ; and Rhoda, even 
in her distress, wondered at his coldness. 
No one before ever responded so calmly to 
whom she had appealed. 

" Oh, you don't know," she said ; " I can't 
tell you." And the poor little hands went 
uj) again with a desperate gesture. 

Raban was very much touched ; but, as I 
have said, he had little power of showing 
his sympathy, and, foolish fellow, doing unto 
others as he would be done by; he only said, 
I have guessed sometliing before now, Miss 
Parnell. I wish I could help you, with all 
my heart. Does not Miss Vanborough know 
of this ? Can not she advise — " 

Rhoda was in no mood to hear her friend's 
X^raises just then. 

" Dolly !" cried Rhoda, passionately ; " she 
would have every one sacrificed to George. 
I ivould love him if I could," she said, pite- 
ously, " but how can I? he frightens me and 
raves at me y how can I love him ? Oh ! Mr. 
Raban, tell me that it is not wrong to feel 
thus?" And once more the fluttering hands 
went up, and the dark wistful eyes gazed 
childishly, piteously into his face. Rhoda 
was looking to Frank for the help that 
should have come to her from her own heart ; 
she dimly felt that she must win him over — 
that if he would, he could help her. 

One has heard before this of women who 
are only half women, who sang their charmed 
songs and beguiled luckless mariners into 
their nets. How many woman mermaids 
there are who go through life unconscious 
of the tribe to which they belong! Rhoda 
pitied herself sincerely ; she sobbed out her 
history to Frank with many tears. " How 
can I tell them all ?" she said; " it will only 
make wretchedness, and now it is only I 
who am unhappy." 

Was it only Rlioda who was unhappy ? 
George, flying along the garden half dis- 
tracted, aching, repentant, might have told 
another story. She had sent him away. He 


would do nothing that she wished, she said; 
he would not accept the independence that 
Lady Sarah had ottered him ; Rhoda did not 
believe in his love, she only wanted him to 
go, to leave her. Yes, she meant it. And 
poor George had rushed away frantic and 
indignant. He did not care Avhere he went. 
He had some vague idea that he would get 
a boat and row away forever, but as he was 
hurrying headlong toward the boat-house 
he saw Dorothea and Robert coming arm in 
arm up t^ie little path, and he turned and 
hurried back toward the inn. Dolly called 
to him, but he did not answer. Rhoda had 
sent him away, poor Dolly could not call 
him back. Robert shrugged his shoulders. 

" Why do you do that ?" said Dolly, an- 
noyed ; " he looked quite ill." 



George was shivering and sick at heart ; 
the avenue led to a door that oxDened into 
the bar of the hotel, and George went in and 
called for some brandy. The spirits seemed 
to do him good ; no one seeing a clumsy 
young fellow in a boating-dress tossing off 
one glassful of brandy after another would 
have guessed at all the grief and x)assion 
that were tearing at his poor foolish heart. 
Rhoda had sent him away. Had he deserved 
this ? Could not she read the truth ? Poor 
timid faithless little thing. Why had he 
been so fierce to her, why had he told her he 
was jealous ? George had a curious quick- 
ness of divination about others, although he 
was blind about his own concerns. He had 
reproached Rhoda because she had been talk- 
ing to Frank, but he knew well enough that 
Frank did not care for Rhoda. Poor child, 
did she know how it hurt him when she 
shrank from him and seemed afraid? Ah! 
she would not have been so cruel if she had 
known all. Thinking of it all, he felt as if 
he had had some little bird in his rough 
grasp, frightened it, and liurt its wings. 
Then he suddenly said to himself that he 
would go back and find his ])oor frightened 
bird and stroke it and soothe it, ask it to 
forgive him. And then he left the place, 
and as hastily as he had entered ; there was 
a last glass of brandy untasted on the coun- 
ter, and he hurri(!(l l)ack toward the terrace. 
He passed the window of the room whore 
Mrs. Palmer was ordering tea from the sofa. 
Dolly, who had just come in, saw him pass 
by ; she did not like his looks, and ran out 
after him, altliougli both Robert and her 
mother called h(!r l)a(;k. Georgt; did not see 
her this time ; he flew pjist tin; family groui)8 
sitting out in the warm twilight; he cam(5 to 
the terrace where Ik; had been a few minutes 
before, and where the two were still standing 



— Raban, of whom lie had said he was jealous, 
Rhoda, whom he loved — the two were slowly 
advancing, Frank's square shoulders dark 
against the light, and Rhoda's slight figure 
bending forward ; she was talking to Raban 
as she had so often talked to George himself, 
with that language of earnest eyes, tremu- 
lous tones, shrinking movements — how well 
he knew it all. What was she saying? Was 
she appealing to Frank to protect her from 
his love and despair, from the grief that she 
had done her best to bring about ? Rhoda 
laid her hand upon Raban's arm in her agita- 

It maddened George beyond bearing, and 
he stamped his heavy foot upon the gravel. 
Some people passing wp from the boats 
stared at him, but went on their way ; and 
Frank, looking up, saw George coming up 
swinging his angry arms ; his eyes were 
fierce, his hat was pushed aside. He put 
Rhoda aside very gently, and took a step 
forward between her and George, who stood 
for a minute looking from one to another, as 
if he did not understand, and then he sud- 
denly burst out, wdth a fierce oath, " Who 
told you to put yourself in my way ?" And, 
as he spoke, he struck a heavy blow straight 
at Raban, who had barely time to parry it 
with his arm. 

It was an instant's anger — one of those 
fatal minutes that undo days and months 
and years that have gone before ; and that 
blow of George's struck Rhoda's feeble little 
fancy for him dead on the spot, as she gave 
a shrill cry of " For shame !" and si)rang for- 
ward, and would have clung to Raban's 
arm. That blow ached for many and many 
a day in poor Dorothea's heart, for she saw 
it all from a turn of the path. As for Frank, 
he recovered himself in an instant. 

Go back, George," he said ; " I will speak 
to you presently." 

He did not vspeak angrily. His voice and 
the steady look of his resolute eyes seemed 
to sober the poor reprobate. Not so Rhoda's 
cry of, " Go, yes, go, for shame !" 

" Go ! What is it to you if I go or stay ? 
Am I in your way ?" shouts George. " Have 
you promised to marry him too ? Have you 
tortured him too, and driven him half mad, 
and then — and then — Oh, Rhoda, do you 
really wish me gone ?" he cried, breaking 

There was a tone in his voice that touch- 
ed Raban, for whom the cry was not intend- 
ed. Nothing would have melted Rhoda 
just then. She was angry beyond all pow- 
er of expression. She wanted him gone,' 
she wanted him silent ; she felt as if she 
hated him. 

" You are not yourself; you are not speak- 
ing the truth," said the girl, in a hard voice, 
drawing herself up. Then, as she spoke, 
all the biandy and all the filry seemed to 
mount once more into George's head. 

I "I am myself, and that is why I leave 
I you," he shouts ; " you are heartless ; you 
haA^e neither love nor charity in you at all ; 
] and now I leave you. Do you hear me ?" he 
cried, getting louder and louder. 

Any one could hear. Dolly could hear as 
she came hurrying up from the end of the 
terrace to the spot where her poor boy stood 
shouting out his heart's secret to unwilling 
ears. More than one person had stopped to 
listen to the angry voice. The placid still- 
ness of the evening seemed to carry its echo 
along the dusky garden bowers, out upon 
the water flowing down below. Some boat- 
men had stopped to listen ; one or two peo- 
ple were coming up through the twilight. 

" He is not sober," said Rhoda to Dolly, 
She spoke with a sort of cold disgust. 

Dolly hardly heard her at the time. All 
she saw then was her poor George, with his 
red angry face — Frank trying to pacify him. 
Should she ever forget the miserable scene ? 
For long years after it used to rise before 
her ; she used to dream of it at night — of 
the garden, the river, the figures advancing 
in the dark. 

Dolly ran up to her brother, and instinct- 
ively put out her arms as if to shield him 
from every one. 

" Come, dear ; come with me," she said, 
flurriedly ; don't let them see you like this." 

"It would shock their elegant suscepti- 
bilities," cries the irrepressible George ; " it 
don't shock them to see a woman playing 
fast and loose with a poor wretch who 
would have given his life for her — yes, his 
life, and his love, and his heart's blood !" 

Dolly had got her arms tight round George 
by this time. She had a shrinking dread 
of Henley seeing him so — he might be com- 
ing, she thought. 

" Robert might see you. Oh, George, 
please come," she whispered, still clinging 
to him ; and suddenly, to Dolly's surprise, 
George collapsed, with a sigh. His fimous 
fit was over, and he let his sister lead him 
where she would. 

" Go down by the river-side," said Raban, 
coming after them ; " there are too many 
people the other waJ^" He spoke in a grave, 
anxious tone, and as the brother and sister 
went their way he looked after them for a 
moment. Dolly had got her arm fast linked 
in George's. The young man was walking 
listlessly by her side. They neither of them 
looke'd back ; they went down the steps and 

The place was all deserted by this time ; 
the disturbance being over, the boatmen 
had gone on their way. The two went and 
sat down upon a log which had been left 
lying near the water-side ; they wxre silent ; 
they could see each other's faces, but little 
more. He sat crouching over, with his chin 
resting on his hands. Dolly was full of 
compassion, and longing to comfort ; but 



how could she comfort ? Such pain as his 
was not to be eased by words spoken by an 
other person. When George began to speak 
at last his voice sounded so sad and so jarred 
from its usual sweetness that Dorothea was 
frightened, as if she could hear in it the echo 
of a coming trouble. 

" I wanted that woman to love me," he 
said. " Dolly, you don't know how I loved 
her." He was staring at the stream with 
his starting eyes, and biting his nails. " We 
have no luck, either of us," he said ; " I 
don't deserve any, but you do. Tell Frank 
I'm sorry I struck him ; she had made me 
half mad ; she looks at me with those great 
eyes of hers, and says, ' Go !' and she makes 

me mad ; she does it to them all But now 

I have left her ! left her ! left her !" repeated 
ugly George, with a sort of sob. " What 
does she care ?" and he got up and shook 
himself, as a big dog might have done, and 
went out a step into the twilight, and then 
came back. 

"Thank you, old Dolly, for your good- 
ness," he said, standing before her. " I can't 
face them all again, and Robert, with his 
confounded supercilious airs. I beg your 
pardon, Dolly; don't look angry. I see how 
good you are, and I see," he said, staring 
her full in the face, " that we have been both 
running our heads against a wall." 

He walked on a little way, and Dolly fol- 
lowed. She could not answer him just then. 
She felt with a pang that George and Robert 
would never be friends ; that she must love 
them apart ; even in heart she must keep 
them asunder. 

Tliey had come to the place where not an 
hour ago she had jumped ashore. The boat 
was still there, as they had left it — tied to 
the stake. The boatmen were at supper, 
and had not yet taken it in. " What are 
you doing ?" said Dolly, as George stooped 
and began to untie the rox)e •, " George, be 

" The fresh air will do me good," he said -, 
" don't be afraid ; I'll take care, if you wish 
it." Then he nodded and got into the boat, 
where the sculls were lying, and he began 
to shove off Avith a rattle of the keel upon 
the shore. " I will leave the boat at Ted- 
dington," he said, "and walk home. Good- 
night! Goo(l-])y!" he said. A boatman, 
hearing the voices, came out of the boat- 
house close by, and while Dolly was explain- 
ing, the boat started off with a dull plash 
of oars falling upon dark waters. George | 
was rowing very slowly, his head Avas turned 
toward the garden of the inn. There were 
lights in the windows, and figures coming i 
and going; the water swirled against the 
wall of the terrace ; the scent of the rhodo- 
dendrons seemed to fill the air and to stifle 
him as he passed; a bird chirped from the 
darkness of some overhanging bnslH!S. He 
could hear his mother's voice : " Robert ! it ! 

is getting late : why don't they come in to 
teaf I must say it is nasty stuff', and not 
to compare to that delicious Rangoon fla- 
vor." He paused for a moment ; her voice 
died away, and then all was silent. The 
evening was growing chill; some mists were 
rising. George felt the cool damp wind 
against his hot brow as he rowed doggedly 
on — past the lights of the windows of the 
inn, past the town, under the darkness of 
the bridge. 

He left them all behind, and his life, and 
his love, he thought, and his mad passion ; 
and himself, and Dolly, and Rhoda, and all 
the hopeless love he longed for and that was 
never to be his. There were other things 
in life. So he rowed away into the darkness 
with mixed anger and peace in his heart. 
What would Rhoda say when she heard he 
was gone ? Nothing much ! He knew her 
well enough to know that Dolly would un- 
derstand, but her new ties would part them 
more entirely than absence or silence. 

There is a song of Schubert's I once heard 
a great singer sing. As she sang, the dull 
gray river flowed through the room, the 
bright lamji-lit walls opened out, the mists 
of a closing darkness surrounded us, the 
monotonous beat of the rowlocks kept time 
to the music, and the man rowed away, and 
silence fell upon the waters. 

So Dolly stood watching the boat as it 
disappeared along the dark wall ; for a tinm 
she thought she heard the plash of the oars 
out upon the water, and a dark shade glid- 
ing away past the wharves and the houses 
that crowd down to the shore. 

She was saying her prayers for her poor 
boy as she walked back slowly to join the 
others. Robert met her with a little remon- 
strance for having hidden away so long. 
She took his arm and clung to it for a min- 
ute, trembling, with her heart beating. " Oh ! 
Robert ; you won't let things come between 
us," said the girl, greatly moved : " my poor 
George is so unha])py. He is to blame, but 
Rhoda has been hard upon him. Have you 
guessed it all?" "My dear Dolly," said 
Robert, gravely, " Rhoda has told us every 
thing. She is most justly annoyed. She is 
quite overcome. She has just gone home 
with her uncle, and I must say — " "Don't, 
don't say any thing," said Dolly, passionate- 
ly, bursting into tears ; and her heart went 
out after her poor George rowing away along 
the dark river. 


OvKB the brink of the place I bent, 

And glanced in the darkling pool below- 
Darkling with heavy hemlock shadowH, 
And the gloom where sunbeams never go. 

And a low, slow wind stirred the veiiinjf branch 
With a ghastly twilight downward thrown, 

And T f<aw a face, tlie face of a woman, 
A wliite dead face I had thouglit my own ! 




Notices of conspicuous Public Men, ivith characteristic 
Anecdotes illustrating their Peculiarities.— Accounts 
of Ccngressional a>irf other Duels, and persoruU Col- 
lisions in Congress, including a Glance at Washing- 
ton Public Life during several AdministratioJis. 


ROTATION in office is all very well in 
theory, and it makes a jingle of words 
so pleasant to the ear that many people have 
accepted it as sound doctrine, withont an 
examination of its scope and tendency. A 
fundamental error lies at its base, and it 
works much injury in its practical opera- 
tion. It rests on the hypothesis that every 
competent man has a claim to office or pub- 
lic favor of some kind, and that when one 
has enjoyed the emoluments or distinction 
of place for a time he should give Avay to his 
neighbor. In other words, official benefits 
are the property of individuals, and not of 
the nation, and are to be bestowed with ref- 
erence to the profit and convenience of those 
who seek them, irresj)ective of the manner 
in which their duties are j)erformed. This 
is true of elective as well as executive or 
judicial offices. In the towns of New En- 
gland men are chosen to the Legislature 
simply because it is their turn. Mr. Bar- 
tholomew goes this year, has his ride on the 
railways free, and pockets his jjer diem of 
two dollars. Next year Mr. Doolittle urges 
his claim for the same purpose. Probably 
Mr. Bartholomew and Mr. Doolittle take 
their seats as perfect ignoramuses, who will 
gain nothing in wisdom and experience dur- 
ing the session, and in failing to re-elect 
them, their constituents do no injury to the 
interests of the State. But when this prac- 
tice obtains in Congressional elections it 
may hajipen that a man of intellect and 
culture, whose modesty and inexperience 
have deterred him from taking part in the 
current discussions of the House at his first 
session, will be rotated out of office, who 
might become an influential member, capa- 
ble of looking efficiently after the interests of 
his constituents, when he has worn off his rus- 
tic bashfulness, studied parliamentary law, 
and fa miliarized himself with the rules of the 
House. The business of legislation requires 
practice and experience as much as the law 
or the mechanic arts. The Southern States, 
from the early days of the republic up to the 
revolt in 1860, always exercised a degree of 
influence in the councils of the nation 
largely disproportioned to their numerical 
strength. To be sure, they sent their best 
men to Congress ; and when they proved 
themselves worthy of confidence they kept 
them there for a long y)eriod of y<'ar.s. Tluis 
mediocre men became influential legislators 
by dint of observation and experience, and 
were able to impress themselves upon Con- 

gress far more effectively than others of su- 
perior endowments and culture, but who 
remained only a short time in public life. 
William R. King came to the Senate when 
Alabama was admitted into the Union, and 
was continuously re-elected until his term of 
service reached the ordinary lifetime of a 
generation. He was not a man of brilliant 
intellect, and his education was principally 
gained in Congress. But he had dignity of 
mind, elevation of character, sincerity, and 
honesty, and although he always acted with 
the Democratic party, was distinguished for 
fairness, impartiality, and patriotic inten- 
tions. He was chairman of the Committee 
on Commerce for many years, and was re- 
peatedly chosen President of the Senate. 
He was in the House from North Carolina 
when quite a young man, and subsequently 
was appointed secretary of legation at Mad- 
rid. He was a wise, prudent, and safe leg- 
islator, industrious, attentive to his duties, 
and his opinions and judgment were always 
respectfully considered. He was appointed 
minister to France by President Tyler, and 
was elected Vice-President on the ticket with 
General Pierce, but died before taking his 
seat as presiding officer of the Senate. An 
anecdote will illustrate the difference be- 
tween the notions of a high-toned Southern 
gentleman and a worthy Democrat from the 
North on partj' ethics and political manage- 
ment. I was playing a rubber of whist at 
the old Indian Queen Hotel, the winter aft- 
er the inauguration of General Taylor, with 
Mr. King, Governor Van Ness, of Vermont, 
and Colonel Richardson, of Illinois, then in 
the House of Representatives. Richardson 
inquired of Colonel King whether a certain 
gentleman nominated for register of the land- 
office in Dixon, Ilinois, had been confirmed. 
The Senator replied in the negative. 

"Then you will oblige me by voting, 
against him." 

" What is the objection to him ?" was the 

" Nothing, that I know of, except that he 
is a bitter Whig, and he is to supplant a 
srood Democrat," said Richardson. 

" That is not a sufficient reason with me," 
answered Colonel King. If I were Presi- 
dent of the United States, I should probably 
appoint political friends, but my duty as a 
Senator, acting upon a nomination, is rather 
judicial than partisan. I have only to in- 
quire whether the nominee is a competent 
and proper man for the office, not whether 
he is a Whig." 

As the Senator left the room, Richardson 
remarked, " What a old fool of a poli- 
tician that is !" 

Another instance wliere long service in 
Congress secured a dull man of moderate ca- 
pacity a distinguished position, was in the 
case of Linn Boyd, of Kentucky. He was 
below the average of talent and culture in 



the House, never won any reputation either 
in committee or on t!ie floor, but he had 
been re-elected from the Bardstown district 
for sixteen or eighteen years ; and upon the 
strength of his experience, although singu- 
larly untitted for the duties of the office, he 
was elected Speaker — a place, in the posses- 
sion of an able man and adroit manager, sec- 
ond in political importance only to that of 
President of the United States. 


There was a spectacle in the Twenty-third 
Congress without precedent in the history 
of the government, and which has never 
since been witnessed in the Capitol. Samuel 
L. Southard was a Senator from New Jersey, 
and his father was a member of the House 
of Representatives from the same State. Fa- 
ther and son are rarely seen in Congress 
together. The most notable instance is the 
Dodges, who represented resx)ectively the 
Territories of Wisconsin and Iowa as Dele- 
gates, and as Senators when they came into 
the Union as States. Henry Dodge, the fa- 
ther, famous as an Indian fighter, was a citi- 
zen of Wisconsin ; his son, Csesar Augustus 
Dodge, who achieved no great distinction in 
any way, was from Iowa. They were re- 
spectable men, of moderate ability, honest, 
and faithful to their duties. The younger 
Dodge was appointed minister to Sx)aiu by 
President Pierce. 

James Barbour was a member of the 
Senate from Virginia, while his brother Phil- 
j\) was in the House of Representatives. 
They were both conspicuous in the public 
service, patriotic men of high character, 
but of different temperaments and qualities 
of mind. James Barbour was in the cab- 
inet of Mr. Adams as Secretary of War, 
and afterward represented the government 
at the court of St. James. Philip was ap- 
])ointed a justice of the Supreme Court by 
General Jackson. James was a flowery, ver- 
bose, and rather pompous orator. His rhet- 
oric was uuexceptionable, but he wrote and 
spoke in a diffuse, ornamental style, that was 
much criticised by the sharp scholars of his 
day. He j)resided in the Harrisburg Con- 
vention that nominated General Harrison, in 
1839, and the survivors of that uncommon- 
ly brilliant body will remember his strik- 
ingly dignified and imposing appearance. 
Philip P. Barbour was a sharp, keen man 
of a metaphysical turn of mind. Tlie ditter- 
ence between the brothers is well described 
by the remark attributed to John Randolph. 
An acquaintance meeting him descending 
the steps of the Cai)itol, inquired what was 
going on. Not much," said tlio old cynic. 
" I've been in the Senate listening to Jeemes 
Barbour, and in the House hearing Phil. 
Jeemes fired at a barn door, and missed it; 
Phil fired at a hair, and s})lit it." 

Henry R. Storrs was in the House from 

New York, while his brother William was a 
member from Connecticut. They were both 
uncommonly able men. I have spoken of 
the elder brother in another place. William 
did not shine specially as a floor member, 
but he was a sound lawyer, thoroughly edu- 
cated, of a fine comprehensive mind, quick 
perception, excellent judgment, and ot perfect 
probity and uprightness of character. He 
resigned his seat in the Twenty -sixth Con- 
gress, having been chosen a judge of the 
Supreme Court of his native State. He was 
afterward made Chief Justice, and died on 
the bench — a jurist without reproach, pure, 
firm, enlightened, and wise. Connecticut 
has been distinguished for the elevated tone 
of her highest judicial tribunals, and few 
men have contributed more to her reputa- 
tion in that respect than William L. Storrs. 

Joseph R. Ingersoll and his brother 
Charles Jared were members of the Twenty- 
seventh Congress. They were on opx^osite 
sides in politics, and they were wholly unlike, 
mentally and morally. Joseph, the Whig, 
was a mild, amiable gentleman, with a kind 
word for every body ; not distinguished for 
intellectual greatness, but all intelligent 
legislator, industrious and attentive to his 
duties, and conscientious in their discharge. 
Charles Jared was an irascible man, of gen- 
erous impulses, but inveterate in his preju- 
dices and vindictive in his resentments, lie- 
had a sort of morbid dislike to England and 
every thing English, which had settled into 
a feeling like personal malevolence. He had 
been engaged in a controversy with a Brit- 
ish writer in regard to the respective merits 
of England and the United States, which was 
conducted with much acrimony, and he 
never could speak of the peo^de or govern- 
ment of Great Britain in terms of modera- 
tion. His historical knowledge was exten- 
sive and accurate, and his speeches, always 
interesting and instructive, were fi-efpiently 
garnished with apposite classical allusions 
and quotations that gave them additional 
zest. Sometimes his hatred of John Bull 

' broke out in a strain of vituperation so 
coarse as to shock the weak nerves of the 
more delicate brethren. 

John A. King, afterward Governor of New 
York, was a member with his brother James 
G. in the Thirty -first Congress. The latter 
was a Representative from New Jers(!y. 
But brothers were so often in the House to- 
gether that the instances are hardly Avoi th 
particularizing. The Washburne family was 
more numerously represented in Congress 
than any other of which we have any recol- 

' lection. Four or five of them have bcrn 
there, and sonuitimcs throe at once. Three 
or four generations of iiayards have snccrs- 
sively represented Delaware in the Senate. 

, Richard H. Bayard was followed by his broth- 

I er James A., and the latter was succeeded by 
his son, who is now a member of the body. 



Tho officers of the navy constituted an 
important element in Washington society. 
They were generally more popular than the 
army officers. They had seen more of tho 
world in foreign parts as well as in their 
own country, and hence were more enter- 
taining companions. And then a jolly sailor 
has always something attractive about him, 
particularly to young people. Even the 
diplomatic corps, which usually constituted 
a strong social force, was hardly able to hold 
its own against the dashing tars, with their 
rich uniforms and frank, easy manners. 
There was usually a large body of them in 
Washington, more especially in the winter. 
Navy men are divided into two classes : the 
sea-going fellows who are called upon for all 
the disagreeable service — to command and 
officer ships ordered on unwholesome sta- 
tions, and generally to discharge the duties 
from which carpet sailors shrink, and man- 
age to avoid. The other class hang about 
the seat of government, dance attendance 
ujjon the executive and the secretaries, have 
schemes of naval reform to press upon Con- 
gress, and fill the manifold bureaus of the 
department. It used to be a common saying 
in the navy that a winter's cruise in Wash- 
ington was better than two years' service 
on a foreign station, so far as promotion and 
government favors were concerned. For 
years the old Navy Board controlled the 
service in every respect. The secretary was 
generally nothing but a respectable figure- 
head wJio carried out the plans of the old 
commodores, Avho took care to fortify them- 
selves by showering favors upon such offi- 
cers as Avere willing to become their tools, 
and had influential connections in Congress. 
The navy had only a nominal existence prior 
to the war of 1812. The exigencies of the 
country in that momentous struggle neces- 
sitated a resort to the commercial marine 
for seamen to command our national ships. 
Many of the bravest and best officers in the 
navy were recruited from the merchant serv- 
ice. A large proportion of the elder post- 
captains were obtained from that source. 
Of course they were imperfectly educated in 
the scientific requirements of the profession, 
and although skillful navigators, and every 
way competent to fight a ship, could not 
manoeuvre a fleet, and probably not one of 
them could have answered the questions 
now propounded to midshipmen when un- 
der examination preparatory to promotion. 
Hence arose feelings of jealousy on the part 
of the old sailors toward their juniors after 
tho war. The difficulty with the piratical 
Btates on the Mediterranean, and subse- 
quently the necessity of protecting our com- 
merce from the picaroons in the Gulf, had 
rendered a large increase of the naval force 
indispensable. During tho administration j 
of Mr. Monroe the elder commodores, headed 1 

by Baiubridge, Rogers, Stewart, and Biddle, 
combined together with a determination to 
force the government to create the rank of 
admiral, post-captain then being the high- 
est grade in the service. And such was the 
pluck and influence of these brave old tars 
that for several years they were able to pre- 
vent promotions above the rank of lieuten- 
ant. A large naval force was maintained in 
tho Mediterranean, Commodore Baiubridge 
being the senior officer. The most distin- 
guished officers of the service were there on 
duty. Perry, Macdonough, Biddle, Crane, and 
Shaw being among the most eminent. The 
oi)pressive course of the older post-captains 
was warmly resented by the younger officers, 
but etiquette and the rules of the service 
precluded a resort to the mode of r(;dress 
used among military men. There was here 
and there a post-cajjtain who did not ap- 
prove of the measures taken to compel a 
change in the policy of the government. 
Captain Shaw, a gallant Irishman, with a 
warm heart and a vivacious temper, dis- 
agreed Avith his brother captains, and often 
expressed himself without reserve in opj)osi- 
tion to the course they were pursuing. A 
story was told of a meeting of commanders 
of vessels on board the ship of the line Ohio 
for purposes of consultation. They were all 
post-captains, with the exception of Master 
Commandant Booth, who was temporarily in 
command of a frigate. Commodore Perry, 
covered with laurels by his gallaut exploit 
on Lake Erie, and naturally rather an ar- 
rogant man, made a supercilious remark to 
Booth, which was sharply retorted. Perry 
rejoined, in a sneering tone, 

" If you were my equal in rank. Sir, I 
should hold you personally accountable for 
your language." 

Shaw's blood was up at once. " Do I un- 
derstand you to say. Commodore Perry, that 
if Captain Booth was your aqual you would 
challenge him for what he has just said V 

" I should, most certainly," was the reply. 

"Then, Sir, I repate every word that Cap-' 
tain Booth has said, and Paddy Shaw is your 
aqual the world over." 

Perry was always cocked and primed for 
a fight, and a duel was expected as a mat- 
ter of course ; but judicious friends inter- 
posed, and the affair was arranged. 

The growing strength of the junior offi- 
cers, and the uneasiness of the government 
under the tyrannical course of the old com- 
modores, finally broke up the combination, 
and promotions were made according to the 
necessities of the service. The movement 
was a failure so far as the creation of a 
more elevated grade in the navy was con- 
cerned, and it Avas not until the extended 
maritime operations indispensable in the 
suppression of the rebellion that Congress 
autliorized the appointment of admirals. 

But the old commodores continued to 


maintain tlieir power at Washington, the 
Navy Board remaining supreme in author- 
ity, in tact, until the administration of Mr. 
Tyler, when there was a reorganization of 
the civil branch of the service, several bu- 
reaus being substituted for the old board. 
The thing was a failure. There was a di- 
vision of power and responsibility, the old 
commodores x)rocuring themselves to be 
placed in authority, although in separate 
positions and under different official titles. 
The secretary, nominally the head of the de- 
partment, was nothing but a clerk : in fact, 
with less real power than the chief clerk or 
the register. 

And this state of things has generally ob- 
tained in the department. Mr. Southard, 
the ablest man who ever held the office of 
Secretary of the Navy, exacted obedience 
and subordination from officers of every 
grade. And his immediate successor. Gov- 
ernor Branch, of North Carolina, undertook 
some reforms in the service ; but Mrs. Eaton 
blew up General Jackson's first cabinet be- 
fore he had time to carry them into effect. 
These were exceptional cases, however. In 
the main, the older officers have had full 
swing in the navy, the secretary being of 
the smallest possible account. 


Washington for many years had been a 
hot-bed for gamblers of high and low de- 
gree. There were a dozen faro banks on the 
Avenue within a stone's-throw of Gadsby's, 
on the corner of Sixth Street. Many of these 
establishments had club -rooms attached, 
where members of Congress and others 
amused themselves with brag, vingt-et-un, 
and whist. Draw-poker came into vogue at 
a later day. Gambling, and for large sums, 
was common, particularly among Sointhern 
and Western members. Scores of them from 
Ohio, Indiana, Kentuckj^, Tennessee, and the 
Gulf States squandered their modest per 
diem, then eight dollars only, at the gaming 
table, and some impaired their j)rivate for- 
tunes by the same indulgence. . S. S. Pren- 
tiss was reported to have lost thirty thou- 
sand dollars the first winter he was in Con- 

The most notorious and dashing gambler 
of the day was Edward Pendleton. He came 
from Virginia, where he was well connected, 
his family being of tlie best blood in the 
State, and he married a most respectable 
and accomplished lady, whose father held 
a responsible office under the government. 
Pendleton gave sumptuous entertainments 
at his club-house, which were well attended 
by some of the most eminent public men in 
the district. Mr. Mangura, then President 
of the Senate, John J. Crittenden, John M. 
Botts, John B. Thompson, of Kentucky, and 
Linn Boyd, afterward Speaker of the House, 
and others of lesser note were fre(iuently 

his guests. Congress had enacted stringent 
penal laws to prevent gambling, but they 
were a dead letter, unless some poor devil 
made a complaint of foul play, or some 
fleeced l)lackleg sought vengeance through 
the aid of the Grand Jury ; and then the mat- 
ter was usually compounded by the payment 
of money. 

Whist was a favorite game with the for- 
eign ministers and the elder statesmen. Mr. 
Clay, General Scott, Mr. Bodisco, and Mr. 
Fox — nephew of Charles James Fox — who 
represented William the Fourth and Queen 
Victoria, often played together, a hundred 
dollars being the usual, stake. They gener- 
ally played well, as Hoyle taught the game ; 
but many of the members of the fashionable 
clubs of New York i)lay with more skill than 
was dreamed of forty years ago. Governor 
Marcy was a great lover of whist, but he 
would never bet money on the game. There 
were always inveterate whisters in the 
Senate. A story was current at one time 
of a protracted sitting at the card-table, at 
which Governor Stokes, of North Carolina, 
and Mountjoy Bailey, sergeant-at-arms of 
the Senate, were two of the players. It ran 
in this wise: the Senate adjourned from 
Thursday over to Monday. The i)arty sat 
down to cards after dinner Thursday even- • 
ing. They played all night and all the next 
day, only stopping occasionally for refresh- 
ments. The game was continued Friday 
night and Saturday, through Saturday night 
and all day Sunday and Sunday night, the 
players resting for a snatch of sleep as na- 
ture became exhausted. Monday morning 
the game was in full blast ; but at ten o'clock 
Bailey moved an adjournment, alleging that 
his official duties required his presence in 
the Senate-chamber. Stokes remonstrated, 
but the sergeant-at-arms jiersisted, and rose 
from the table. The Governor grumbled 
and scolded, but finally gave it up, swearing 
that if he had suspected Bailey would break 
up the game thus prematurely, he would 
have seen him — any where before he would 
have invited him to join the party. 

Mr. Webster played whist, but indifferent- 
ly only. The Virginians were addicted to 
that stupid game known as shoe-maker loo. 
President Tyler was fond of loo, and on a 
rainy day, when there was no great pressure 
of public business, he lias been known to 
make up a game at the White Hous(;, and 
play all day, having dinner in his cliaml)er. 
His companions usually were William Sel- 
den. Treasurer of the United States, Gary 
Seldcn, his brother, store - keei)er at the 
navy-yard, and Hometimes Governor (iilnu^r, 
of Virginia, with now and then another fa- 
vorite. The amount played for was always 
small, but Mr. Tyler was as much delighted 
at takhig a pool as if he had won liundredH. 

Public oi)iniou was not so averse to gam- 
ing in Washington as in most of the North- 




em cities. Probably tlie toue of public 
morals is no more elevated now tbau it was 
tbeii, but tlierc was tlieu Ic^s preteuse and 
ostentation of purity. At a large party giv- 
en by the wife of a cabinet minister, Mrs. 
Clay, chaperoning a young lady from the 
North, passed through a room where gentle- 
men were playing cards, Mr. Clay among the 

Is this a common practice ?" inquii-ed 
the young lady. 

" Yes," said Mrs. Clay ; they always play 
when they get together." 

" Don't it distress you to have Mr. Clay 

"No, my dear," said the good old lady, 
composedly : "he 'most always wins." 

In the Av inter of 1841 General Scott, Mr. 
Clay, Mr. Fox, and Mr. Bodisco played whist 
once a week for some time, the stake, as usu- 
al, being a hundred dollars. They j)layed a 
match game, Scott and Bodisco against Clay 
and Fox. They were well matched, and for 
a long time the game was pretty even. At 
length fortune favored Messrs. Clay and Fox, 
and they were ten or twelve games ahead. 
"Gentlemen," said the Russian minister, 
rising from the table, " the game has closed 
for the season. The appropriation is ex- 
• liaust." And sure enough not another game 
would he play, much to the disgust and vex- 
ation of General Scott, who, of course, was a 
considerable loser. 


John Howard Payne came to Washington 
on his release by the Georgia Regulators. 
Payne had conceived a grand scheme for an 
international magazine, to be published si- 
multaneously in London and New York, and 
he visited that portion of Georgia where the 
Creek Indians had recently been driven from 
their homes to gather materials for an article 
on their habits and mode of living, and he 
liad been held as a prisoner on suspicion of 
being a spy. He publisJaed an account of 
liis capture and detention, on being libera- 
ted, so amusing and entertaining that Col- 
onel Preston, Mr. Calhoun's colleague in the 
Senate, a gentleman of elegant culture and 
a keen sense of the ludicrous, expressed the 
hope that Payne might again fall into the 
hands of some lawless gang, as his individ- 
ual inconvenience under such circumstances 
was of no consequence in comparison with 
the enjoyment and edification afforded to 
the public by his charming account of his 

Payne's literary project had failed, and 
he sought employment from the adminis- 
tration, being in straitened circumstances, 
witli no more thrift, or providence, or capac- 
ity for taking care of himself than Harold 
Skimpole. He was a delightful companion, 
full of genius, of nice culture, of more taste 
than strength, i)erhaps, but capable of a 

great deal of labor, and well fitted for cler- 
ical duties of any description, as he wrote 
a beautiful and expeditious hand, and was 
steady and industrious in his habits. He 
applied for a diplomatic appointment, but 
failing in that, he was willing to accept of 
any respectable position where the emolu- 
ments would afford him a livelihood. He 
had all the simplicity of a child, was con- 
fiding, credulous, and easily imposed upon, 
and the wags about Washington — for the 
city is always infested with great numbers ( 
of practical jokers — deluded him with mag- 
nificent and imjjossible expectations. Rob- 
ert Tyler, the President's eldest son, and 
Fletcher Webster were warm friends of 
Payne, and co-operating with them were 
several newspaj)er correspondents, all of 
whom made a persistent effort to procure 
him an eligible appointment in one of the 
departments. Mr. Webster, then Secretary 
of State, had taken a jirejudice against poor 
Payne, and nothing could be done for him 
in the diplomatic or consular line. After a 
while, and by dint of persevering exertion, 
we obtained a place for him in the War De- 
partment, under Mr. Spencer. He had a 
comfortable room all to himself, and he was 
charged with the task of collating, indexing, 
and making an abstract of the treaties nego- 
tiated by the government with the several 
Indian tribes. His annual salary was six- 
teen hundred dollars, at that time a compe- 
tent sui)port for a bachelor of simple tastes 
and inexpensive habits. Payne was delight- 
ed. Nothing could have suited him better, 
and he set to work with wonderful zeal and 
intelligence. The arrangement was a great 
relief to his friends, and we determined that 
he should not be displaced in a hurry. 
Knowing the secretary's peculiarities, and 
that he was " a kittle creature to shoe be- 
hind," as the Scotchman says, we instructed 
Payne in regard to the mode in which he 
should bear himself toward his official supe- 
rior. He was advised to attend to his duties 
diligently, to steer clear of the secretary aft- 
er exhibiting to him a specimen of the man- 
ner in which he was performing his work, to 
draw his salary on the first of every month, 
and to bother nobody Avith suggestions or 
advice on any subject. After a few days of 
constant labor Payne showed the secretary 
what he was doing, and how he was doing 
it. Nothing could have been better done. 
There was no more exquisite penmanship on 
the filcvs of the department, and the arrange- 
ment of the papers was perfect. Mr. Spencer 
expressed his gratification in warm terms, 
and Payne was in high glee. He continued 
his labors with increased activity, accom- 
plishing more every day than any other two 
clerks in the department, and in less than 
four months he had completed the job. Un- 
mindful of our caution, and pluming himself 
upon the dispatch with which he had accom- 





plislied the work, lie carried the fruits of it 
to the Secretary, who said he had nothing 
more for him to do, and dismissed him from 

Here was poor Payne on our hands again, 
as helpless as an infant, smarting under a 
sense of wrong, querulous, complaining, and 
deeming himself the most unfortunate of 
mankind. He was a spoiled prodigy. When 
a mere child he was brought upon the stage, 
precocious and of great promise in the dra- 
matic line, but his subsequent performances 
did not fulfill this promise, and he was a 
disappointed, unhappy man, for whom his 
friends could never do enough. No place 
could be found for him after he had fallen a 
victim to Mr. Spencer's caprice, and we were 
all perplexed and fatigued by his importu- 
nities. At this juncture Mr. Webster was 
called to Boston on business, leaving his son 
Fletcher acting Secretary of State. During 
his absence we managed to have Payne ap- 
pointed consul to Tunis, and he had his 
commission in his pocket before the Secre- 
tary returned to Washington. But there 
was no end to his troubles and embarrass- 
ments. Full of the dignity of his office, he 
insisted upon being conveyed to the scene 
of his labors in a vessel of war. The Secre- 
tary of the Navy hesitated about giving an 
order to that effect, and Payne invoked the 
authority of the President to accomplish his 
object. But Mr. Tyler had some doubts of 
the propriety of granting his request, and 
things remained in statu quo. Meantime 
Payne, having raised a sum of money by 
virtue of his office, went to New York, and 
commenced the purchase of a library to oc- 
cnyyj his leisure time while not engaged in 
conference with the Bey of Tunis. The 
enemies of the administration — and they 
comprised a large majority of Congress, and 
throughout the country — were all the time 
on the watch for causes of censure and re- 
proach, and Payne's long delay in departing 
for the site of old Carthage was made the 
subject of sharp animadversion. Dr. Heap, 
who had been a long time consul at Tunis, 
was a relative or intimate friend of Colonel 
Benton, who had strenuouslyresisted Payne's 
confirmation. Threatening an assault on Mr. 
Tyler in this connection, some anxiety was 
created, and the President swore that Payne 
should proceed immediately to his place of 
destination, or he would revoke the ai)point- 
ment. He was still in New York "making 
his arrangements," as he wrote in reply to 
an inquiry when he would be ready to sail, 
and I was sent on to take him in hand and 
see if it was possible to facilitate his depart- 
ure from the country. I found him penni- 
less, having spent his outfit in every sort of 
extravagant folly, unable to move in any 
direction, and in a state of despair. At the 
suggestion of Mr. Tyler we advanced him 
money enough to pay his passage across the 

Vor.. XLVL— No. 2T1.-7 

Atlantic ; and the next we heard from him 
was at Paris, destitute, and living on a friend, 
waiting for soinethiug to turn up. Obtain- 
ing relief from a gentleman whom he had 
slightly known in Washington, he made his 
way to Tunis at last. 

He soon ingratiated himself with the Bey, 
and in due time he compensated us for all 
our trouble by a long, charmingly written, 
and most interesting letter, descriptive of 
every thing that had occurred under his no- 
tice in Carthage. The Bey had given him 
the use of a palace larger than the White 
House, and assigned him a retinue of Arabs 
for domestic service sufficient in number to 
form a body-guard to the Emperor of Moroc- 
co. Not one of them understood a word of 
any civilized tongue, and Payne, who spoke 
French like a native, and understood sev- 
eral of the modern European languages, had 
not included the lingo of the Mussulman in 
his studies. So the communication between 
the lord of the palace, and his servants was 
confined to gestures and grimaces. His sit- 
ting apartment was about the size of the 
East Koom in the White House, with a cool 
marble floor, furnished with divans and 
lounges. Here Payne sat in solitary splen- 
dor. If he needed any thing, he blew a sil- 
ver whistle, and there filed in at least a 
dozen tall Arabs, who placed themselves in 
a semicircle around him, as silent as graven 
images, but all of them salaming with the 
grace of sons of the desert, and informing 
him by smirks and signs that they were his 
slaves. The novelty of the thing afforded 
amusement for a while ; but becoming fa- 
tigued of it, he turned his attention to re- 
forming certain abuses which he assumed 
had been overlooked by his friend the Bey, 
and the result was that he came near falliug 
a victim to the bow-string. 


What if we lose the seasons 

That seem of our happiest choice, 

That Life is fuller of reasons 
To sorrow than rejoice. 

That Time is richer in treasons. 
And Hope has a faltering voice ? 

The dreams wherewith we were dowered 
Were gifts of an ignorant brain ; 

The truth has at last overpowered 
The visions we clung to in vain : 

But who would resist, as a coward. 

The knowledge that cometh from pain ? 

For the love, as a flower of the meadow, 
The love that stands firm as a tree — 

For the stars that have vanished in shadow, 
The daylight,. enduring and free — 

For a dream of tlie dim El Dorado, 
A world to inhabit have we! 

Bayard Taylor. 





CIIXFTER YI.^( Continued. j 

ROSA got flushed, and her eye gleamed 
like a gambler's, and she bought away 
like wild-fire. In which sport she caught 
sight of an old gentleman with little black 
eyes, that kept twinkling at her. 

She complained of these eyes to Mrs. Cole. 
" Why does he twinkle so ? I can see it is 
at me. I am doing something foolish — I 
know I am." 

Mrs. Cole turned and fixed a haughty stare 
on the old gentleman. Would you believe 
it ? instead of sinking through the floor, he 
sat his ground, and retorted with a cool, 
clear grin. 

But now, whenever Rosa's agent bid for 
her, and the other man of straw against him, 
the black eyes twinkled, and Rosa's courage 
began to ooze away. At last she said, " That 
is enough for one day. I shall go. Who 
could bear those eyes ?" 

The broker took her address ; so did the 
auctioneer's clerk. The auctioneer asked 
her for no deposit ; her beautiful, innocent, 
and high-bred face was enough for a man 
who was always reading faces and inter- 
preting them. 

And so they retired. 

But this charming sex is like that same auc- 
tioneer's hammer, it can not go abruptly. It 
is always going — going — going — a long time 
before it is gone. I think it would perhaps 
loiter at the door of a jail, with the order of 
release in its hand, after six years' confine- 
ment. Getting up to go quenches in it the 
desire to go. So these ladies, having got up 
to go, turned and lingered, and hung fire so 
long that at last another set of oak chairs 
came up. '*0h! I must see what those go 
for," said Rosa, at the door. 

The bidding was mighty languid now 
Rosa's broker was not stimulating it; and 
the auctioneer was just knocking down 
twelve chairs — oak and leather — and two 
arm-chairs, for twenty pounds, when, cast- 
ing his eyes around, he caught sight of Rosa 
looking at him rather excited. He looked 
inquiringly at her. She nodded slightly; 
he knocked them down to her at twenty 
guineas, and they were really a great bar- 

" Twenty-two," cried a dealer. 

" Too late," said the auctioneer. 

" I spoke with the hammer, Sir." 

" After the hammer, Isaacs." 

" Shelp me God, we was together." 

One or two more of his tribe confirmed 

this pious falsehood, and clamored to have 
them put up again. 

" Call the next lot," said the auctioneer, 
peremptorily. " Make up your mind a little 
quicker next time, Mr. Isaacs ; you have been 
long enough at it to know the value of oak 
and moroccar." 

Mrs. Staines and her friend now started 
for Morley's Hotel, but went round by Re- 
gent Street: whereby they got glued at 
Peter Robinson's window and nine other 
windows ; and it was nearly five o'clock 
when they reached Morley's. As they came 
near the door of their sitting-room Mrs. 
Staines heard somebody laughing and talk- 
ing to her husband. The laugh, to her sub- 
tile ears, did not sound musical and genial, 
but keen, satirical, unpleasant : so it was 
with some timidity she opened the door ; and 
there sat the old chajj with the twinkling 
eyes. Both parties stared at each other a 

Why, it is them !" cried the old gentle- 
man; ^'ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!" 

Rosa colored all over, and felt guilty some- 
how, and looked miserable. 

''Rosa dear," said Doctor Staines, "this 
is our uncle Philip." 

" Oh !" said Rosa, and turned red and pale 
by turns : for she had a great desire to pro- 
pitiate Uncle Philip. 

" You were in the auction-room. Sir," said 
Mrs. Cole, severely. 

" I was, madam. He ! he !" 

" Furnishing a house ?" 

"No, ma'am. I go to a dozen sales a 
week; but it is not to buy; I enjoy the 
humors. Did you ever hear of Robert Bur- 
ton, ma'am ?" 

"No. Yes; a great traveler, isn't he? 
Discovered the Nile — or the Niger — or some- 

This majestic vagueness staggered old 
Crusty at first, but he recovered his equi- 
librium, and said, " Why, yes, now I think 
of it, you are right ; he has traveled farther 
than most of us; for about two centuries ago 
he visited that bourne whence no traveler 
returns. Well, when he w^as alive — he was 
a student of Christchurch — he used to go 
down to a certain bridge over the Isis and 
enjoy the chaff of the bargemen. Now there 
are no bargemen left to speak of ; the mantle 
of Bobby Burton's bargees has fallen on the 
Jews and demi-semi-Christians that buy and 
sell furniture at the weeklv auctions: thither 
I repair to hear what little coarse wit is left 
us : used to go to the House of Commons, 



but they are getting too civil by half for my 
money. Besides, characters come out in an 
auction. For instance, only this very day I 
saw two ladies enter, in gorgeous attire, like 
heifers decked for sacrifice, and reduce their 
spoliation to a certainty by employing a 
broker to bid. Now what is a broker ? A 
fellow who is to be paid a shilling in the 
pound for all articles purchased. What is 
his interest, then ? To buy cheap ? Clearly 
not. He is paid in proportion to the dear- 
ness of the article." 

Rosa's face began to work piteously. 

"Accordingly, what did the broker in ques- 
tion do ? He winked to another broker, and 
these two bid against one another, over their 
victim's head, and ran every thing she want- 
ed up at least a hundred per cent, above the 
value. So open and transparent a swindle 
I have seldom seen, even in an auction-room. 
Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!" 

His mirth was interrupted by Rosa going 
to her husband, hiding her head on his 
shoulder, and meekly crying. 

Christopher comforted her like a man. 
" Don't you cry, darling," said he ; " how 
should a pure creature like you know the 
badness of the world all in a moment ? If 
it is my wife you are laughing at, Uncle 
Philip, let me tell you this is the wrong 
place. I'd rather a thousand times have 
her as she is, than armed with the cunning 
and suspicions of a hardened old worldling 
like you." 

" With all my heart," said Uncle Philip, 
who, to do him justice, could take blows as 
well as give them ; " but why employ a 
broker ? why pay a scoundrel five per cent, 
to make you pay a hundred per cent. ? why 
pay a noisy fool a farthing to open his mouth 
for you when you have taken the trouble to 
be there yourself, and have got a mouth of 
your own to bid discreetly with? Was 
ever such an absurdity?" He began to get 

" Do you want to quarrel with me, Uncle 
Philip?" said Christoi)her, firing up; "be- 
cause sneering at my Rosa is the way, and 
the only way, and the sure way." 

"Oh no !" said Rosa, interposing. "Uncle 
Philip was right. I am very foolish and in- 
experienced : but I am not so vain as to turn 
from good advice. I will never employ a 
broker again, Sir." 

Uncle Philip smiled, and looked pleased. 

Mrs. Cole caused a diversion by taking 
leave, and Rosa followed her down stairs. 
On her return she found Christopher telling 
his uncle all about the bijou, and how he 
had taken it for £130 a year and £100 pre- 
mium, and Uncle Philip staring fearfully. 

At last he found his tongue. "The bijou !" 
said he. "Why, that is a name they gave 
to a little den in Dear Street, Mayfair. You 
haven't ever been and taken that! Built 
over a mews." 

Christopher groaned. " That is the place, 
I fear." 

" Why, the owner is a friend of mine ; an 
old patient. Stables stunk him out. Let it 
to a man ; I forget his name. Stables stunk 
Mm out. He said, ' I shall go.' ' You can't,' 
said my friend; 'you have taken a lease.' 

' Lease be d d,' said the other ; ' I never 

took yoiir house ; here's quite a large stench 
not specified in your description of the prop- 
erty : it canH he the same place :' flung the lease 
at his head, and cut like the wind to foreign 
parts less odoriferous. Pd have got you the 
hole for ninety ; but you are like your wife, 
you must go to an agent. What ! don't you 
know that an agent is a man acting for you 
with an interest opposed to yours ? Em- 
ploying an agent : it is like a Trojan seek- 
ing the aid of a Greek. You needn't cry, 
Mrs. Staines ; your husband has been let in 
deeper than you have. Now you are young 
people beginning life : I'll give you a piece 
of advice. Emjjloy others to do what you 
can't do, and it must be done ; but never to 
do any thing you can do better for your- 
selves. Agent ! the word is derived from a 
Latin word, ' agere,' to do ; and agents act 
up to their etymology ; for they invariably 
do the nincompoop that employs them, or 
deals with them, in any mortal way. I'd 
have got you that beastly little bijou for 
£90 a year." 

Uncle Philip went away crusty, leaving 
the young couple finely mortified and dis- 

That did not last very long ; Christopher 
noted the experience and Uncle Phil's wis- 
dom in his diary, and then took his wife on 
his knee, and comforted her, and said, " Nev- 
er mind ; experience is worth money, and it 
always has to be bought. Those who cheat 
us will die poorer than we shall, if we are 
honest and economical. I have observed 
that people are seldom ruined by the vices 
of others ; these may hurt them, of course ; 
but it is only their own faults and follies 
that can destroy them." 

" Ah, Christie," said Rosa, " you are a man. 
Oh, the comfort of being married to a man ! 
A man sees the best side. I do adore men. 
Dearest, I will waste no more of your mon- 
ey. I will go to no more sales." 

Christopher saw she was deeply mortified, 
and he said, quietly, " On the contrary, you 
will go to the very next. Only take Uncle 
Philip's advice ; employ no broker, and watch 
the prices things fetch when you are not bid- 
ding, and keep cool." 

She caressed his ears with both her white 
hands, and thanked him for giving her an- 
other trial. So that trouble molted in the 
sunshine of conjugal love. 

Notwithstanding the agent's solemn as- 
surance, the bijou was out of re[)air. Doctor 
Staines detected int(U-iial odors, as well as 
those that flowed in fiom the mews. He 



was not tlie miiu to let his wife perish by 
miasma; so he had the draius all up, and 
actually found brick drains and a cesspool : 
he stopped that up, and laid down new 
pipe-di-ains, with a good fall, and properly 
trapped. The old drains were hidden, after 
the manner of builders. He had the whole 
course of his new drains marked upon all 
the floors they passed under, and had sever- 
al stones and boards hinged, to facilitate ex- 
amination at any period. 

But all this, with the necessary cleaning, 
whitewashing, painting, and papering, ran 
away with money. Then came Rosa's pur- 
chases, which, to her amazement, amount- 
ed to £190, and not a carpet, curtain, or bed 
among tho lot. Then there was the car- 
riage home from the auction-room, an ex- 
pense one avoids by buying at a shop, and 
the broker claimed his shilling in the pound. 
This, however, Staines refused. The man 
came and blustered. Rosa, who was there, 
trembled. Then, for the first time, she saw 
her husband's brow lower ; he seemed trans- 
figured, and looked terrible. " You scoun- 
drel," said he, " you set another villain like 
yourself to bid against you, and you betrayed 
the innocent lady that employed you. I 
could indict you and your confederate for a 
conspiracy : I take the goods out of respect 
for my wife's credit, but you shall gain noth- 
ing by swindling her. Be off", you heartless 
miscreant, or I'll — " 

I'll take the law if you do." 

" Take it, then : I'll give you something to 
howl for and he seized him with a grasp 
so tremendous that the fellow cried out in 
dismay, "Oh! don't hit me, Sir ; pray don't." 

On this abject appeal, Staines tore the 
door open with his left hand, and spun the 
broker out into the passage with his right. 
Two movements of this angry Hercules, and 
the man was literally whirled out of sight 
with a rapidity and swiftness almost ludi- 
crous ; it was like a trick in a pantomime : 
a clatter on the stairs betrayed that he had 
gone down the first few steps in a wholesale 
and irregular manner, though he had just 
managed to keep his feet. 

As for Staines, he stood there still lower- 
ing like thunder, and his eyes like hot coals ; 
but his wife threw her tender arms around 
him, and begged him consolingly not to 

She was trembling like an aspen. 

" Dear me," said Christopher, with a ludi- 
crous change to marked politeness and re- 
spect; "I forgot you in my righteous indig- 
nation." Next he becomes uxorious. " Did 
they frighten her, a duck ? Sit on my knee, 
darling, and pull my hair for not being more 
considerate — there — there." 

This was followed by the whole absurd 
soothing process as practiced by manly hus- 
bands upon quivering and somewhat hys- 
terical wives ; and ended with a formal 

apology. " You must not think that I am 
passionate; on the contrary, I am always 
practicing self government. My maxim is, 
AtiimuM rege qui nisi paret imperat ; and that 
means, Make your temper your servant, or 
else it will be your master. But to ill-use 
my dear little wife, it is unnatural, it is mon- 
strous, it makes my blood boil," 

" Oh dear ! don't go into another. It is 
all over. I can't bear to see you in a pas- 
sion ; you are so terrible, so beautiful. Ah ! 
they are fine things, courage -and strength. 
There's nothing I admire so much," 

" Why they are as common as dirt. WTiat 
I admire is modesty, timidity, sweetness ; 
the sensitive cheek that pales or blushes at 
a word, the bosom that quivers, and clings 
to a fellow whenever any thing goes wrong." 

" Oh, that is what you admire, is it ?" said 
Rosa, dryly. 

"Admire it ?" said Christopher^ not seeing 
the trap ; "I adore it." 

" Then, Christie dear, you are a simple- 
ton ; that is all. And we are made for one 

The house was to be furnished and occu- 
pied as soon as possible ; so Mrs. Staines and 
Mrs. Cole went to another sale-room. Mrs. 
Staines remembered all Uncle Philip had 
said, and went plainly dressed ; but her 
friend declined to sacrifice her showy dress 
to her friend's interests. Rosa thought that 
a little unkind, but said nothing. 

In this auction-room they easily got a 
place at the table : but did not find it 
heaven; for a number of second-hand car- 
pets were in the sale, and these, brimful of 
dust, were all shown on the table, and the 
dirt choked and poisoned our fair friends 
Brokers pestered them, until at last Rosa, 
smarting under her late exposure, addressed 
the auctioneer quietly, in her silvery tones : 
" Sir, these gentlemen are annoying me by 
forcing their services on me. I do not in- 
tend to buy at all unless I can be allowed 
to bid for myself." 

When Rosa, blushing and amazed at her 
own boldness, uttered these words, she little 
foresaw their effect. She had touched a pop- 
ular sore. 

"You are quite right, madam," said a re- 
spectable tradesman opposite her. " What 
business have these dirty fellows, without 
a shilling in their pocket, to go and force 
themselves on a lady agaiust her will V 

" It has been complained of in the papers 
again and again," said another. 

" What, mayn't we live as well as you ?" 
retorted a broker. 

" Yes, but not to force yourself on a lady. 
Why, she'd give you in charge of the police 
if you tried it on outside." 

Then there was a downright clamor of dis- 
cussion and chaff. 

Presently up rises very slowly a country- 



man so colossal that it seemed as if lie would 
never have done getting up, and gives his 
experiences. He informed the company, in 
a broad Yorkshire dialect, that he did a hit 
in furniture, and at first starting these bro- 
kers buzzed about him like flies, and pester- 
ed him. " Ah damned 'em pretty hard," said 
he, " but they didn't heed any. So then ah 
spoke 'em civil, and ah said, ' Well, lads, I 
dinna come fra Yorkshire to sit like a dum- 
my and let you buy wi' my brass : the first 
that pesters me again ah'll just fell him on 
t' plaace, like a caulf, and ah'm not very sure 
he'll get up again in a hurry.' So they 
dropped me like a hot potato ; never pester- 
ed me again. But if they won't ^ive over 
pestering you, mistress, ah'll come round 
and just stand behind your chair, and bring 
nieve with me," showing a fist like a leg of 

" No, no," said the auctioneer, " that will 
not do. I will have no disturbance here. 
Call the policeman." 

While the clerk went to the door for the 
bobby a gentleman reminded the auctioneer 
that the journals had repeatedly drawn at- 
tention to the nuisance. 

" Fault of the public, not mine, Sir. Po- 
liceman, stand behind that lady's chair, and 
if any body annoys her, put him quietly into 
the street." 

" This auction-room will be to let soon," 
said a voice at the end of the table. 

" This auction-room," said the auctioneer, 
master of the gay or grave at a moment's 
notice, " is supported by the public and the 
trade ; it is not supported by paupers." 

A Jew upholsterer put in his word. " I 
do my own business ; but I like to let a poor 
man live." 

" Jonathan," said the auctioneer to one 
of his servants, " after this sale you may put 
up tne shutters ; we have gone and offended 
Mr. Jacobs. He keeps a shop in Blind Al- 
ley, Whitechapel. Now then, Lot 69." 

Rosa bid timidly for one or two lots, and 
bought them cheap. 

The auctioneer kept looking her way, and 
she had only to nod. 

The obnoxious broker got opposite her 
and ran her up a little out of spite ; but as 
he had only got half a crown about him, 
and no means of doubling it, ho dared not 
go far. 

On the other side of the table was a figure 
to which Rosa's eyes often turned with in- 
terest : a fair young boy about twelve years 
old; he had golden hair, and was in deep 
mourning. His appearance interested Rosa, 
and she wondered how he came there, and 
why : he looked like a lamb wedged in 
among wolves, a flower among weeds. As 
the lots proceeded the boy seemed to get un- 
easy ; and at last, when Lot 73 was put up, 
any body could see in his poor little face 
that he was there to bid for it. 

" Lot 73, an arm-chair covered in morocco. 
An excellent and most useful article. Should 
not be at all surprised if it was made bv Gil- 

" Gillow would, though," said Jacobs, who 
owed him a turn. 

Chorus of dealers. " Haw ! haw !" 

The auctioneer-. " I like to hear some people 
run a lot down ; shows they are going to bid 
for it in earnest. Well, name your own 
price. Five pounds to begin ?" 

Now if nobody had spoken, the auctioneer 
would have gone on, "Well, four pounds 
then, three, two, whatever you like," and at 
last obtained a ho7ia fide offer of thirty shil- 
lings ; but the moment he said " Five pounds 
to begin," the boy in black lifted up his 
childish treble, and bid thus, " Five pound 
ten" — " six pounds" — " six pound ten" — 
"seven pounds" — "seven pound ten" — 
-'• eight pounds" — " eight pound ten" — "nine 
pounds" — "nine pound ten" — "ten pounds !" 
without interruption, and, indeed, almost in 
a breath. 

There was a momentary pause of amaze- 
ment, and then an outburst of chaff. 

" Nice little boy !" 

" Didn't he say his lesson well ?" 

" Favor us with your card. Sir. You are 
a gent as knows how to buy." 

" What did he stop for ? If it's worth ten, 
it is worth a hundred." 

"Bless the child!" said a female dealer, 
kindly, " what made you go on like that ? 
Why, there was no bid against you ! you'd 
have got it for two pounds — a rickety old 

Young master began to whimper. " Why, 
the gentleman said, ' Five pounds to begin.' 
It was the chair poor grandpapa always sat 
in, and all the things are sold, and mamma 
said it would break her heart to lose it. 
She was too ill to come, so she sent me. 
She told me I was not to let it be sold away 
from us for less than ten pounds, or she 
sh — should be m — m — miserable," and the 
poor little fellow began to cry. Rosa fol- 
lowed suit promptly but unobtrusively. 

" Sentiment always costs money," said 
Mr. Jacobs, gravely. 

" How do you know ?' asked Mr. Cohen. 
" Have you got any on hand ? I never seen 
none at your shop." 

Some tempting things now came up, and 
Mrs. Staines bid freely ; but all of a sudden 
she looked down the table, and there was 
Uncle Philip twinkling as before. "Oh 
dear ! what am I doing now ?" thought she. 
" I have got no broker." 

She bid on, but in fear and tremblnig bo- 
cause of thq^e twinkling eyes. At last she 
mustered courage, wrote on a leaf of her 
pocket-book, and passed it down to liiin. 
" It would be only kind to warn me. What 
am I doing wrong 

He sent her back a line directly : " Auc- 



tioneer running you up himself. Follow his 
eye when he bids ; you will see there is no 
bona fide bidder at your prices." 

Rosa did so, and found that it was true. 

She nodded to Uncle Philip ; and, with 
her expressive face, asked him what she 
should do. 

The old boy must have his joke. So he 
wrote back, " Tell him, as you see he has a 
fancy for certain articles, you would not be 
80 discourteous as to bid against him." 

The next article but one was a drawing- 
room suit Rosa wanted ; but the auctioneer 
bid against her ; so, at eighteen pounds, she 

"It is against you, madam," said the auc- 

" Yes, Sir," said Rosa ; " but as you are 
the only bidder, and you have been so kind 
to me, I would not think of opposing you." 

The words were scarcelv out of her moutli 
when they were greeted with a roar of Ho- 
meric laughter that literally shook the room, 
and this time not at the expense of the in- 
nocent speaker. 

" That's into your mutton, governor." 

" Sharp's the word this time." 

" I say, governor, don't you want a broker 
to bid for ye ?" 

"Wink at me next time. Sir; I'll do the 
office for you." 

" No greenhorns left now." 

" That lady v^on't give a ten-pound note 
for her grandfather's arm-chair." 

" Oh yes, she will, if it's stuffed with bank- 

"Put the next lot up with the owner's 
name and the reserve price. Open business." 

" And sing a psalm at starting," 

" A little less noise in Judaea, if you please," 
said the auctioneer, who had now recovered 
from the blow. " Lot 97." 

This was a very pretty marqueterie cab- 
inet ; it stood against the wall, and Rosa 
had set her heart upon it. Nobody would 
bid. She had muzzled the auctioneer ef- 

"Your own price." 

" Two pounds," said Rosa. 

A dealer offered guineas, and it advanced 
slowly to four pounds and half a crown, at 
which it was about to be knocked down to 
Rosa, when suddenly a new bidder arose in 
the broker Rosa had rejected. They bid 
slowly and sturdily against each other, 
until a line was given to Rosa from Uncle 

" This time it is your own friend, the 
snipe -nosed woman. She telegraphed a 

Rosa read, and crushed the^note. "Six 
guineas," said she. 
" Six-ten." 



" Ten guineas," said Rosa ; and then, with 
feminine cunning, stealing a sudden glance, 
caught her friend leaning back and signal- 
ing the broker not to give in. 

"Eleven pounds." 

" Twelve." 


" Fourteen." 

" Sixteen." 


" Twenty." 

" Twenty guineas." 

"It is yours, my faithful friend," said 
Rosa, turning suddenly round on Mrs. Cole 
with a mar^nificent glance no one would have 
thought her capable of. 

Then she rose and stalked away. 

Dumfoundered for the moment, Mrs. 
Cole followed her, and stopped her at the 

" Why, Rosie dear, it is the only thing I 
have bid for. There I've sat by your side 
like a mouse." 

Rosa turned gravely toward her. " You 
know it is not that. You had only to tell 
me you wanted it. I would never have been 
so mean as to bid against you." 

"Mean, indeed!" said Florence, tossing 
her head. 

" Yes, mean ; to draw back and hide be- 
hind the friend you were with, and employ 
the very rogue she had turned off. But it 
is my own fault. Cecilia warned me against 
you. She always said you were a treacher- 
ous girl." 

"And I say you are an impudent little 
minx. Only just married, and going about 
like two vagabonds,, and talk to me like 
that !" 

" We are not going about like two vaga- 
bonds. We have taken a house in May- 

" Say a stable." 

" It was by your advice, you false-hearted 

" You are a fool." 

" You are worse ; you are a traitress." 
"Then don't you have any thing to do 
with me." 

" Hea ven forbid I should. You treacher- 
ous thing." 

"You insolent — insolent — I hate you." 

"And I despise you.." 

" I always hated you at bottom." 

"That's why you pretended to love me, 
you wretch." 

"Well, I pretend no more. I am your 
enemy for life." 

"Thank you. You have told the truth 
for once in your life." 

" I have. And ho shall never call in your 
husband ; so you may leave Mayfair as soon 
as you like." 

" Not to please you, madam. We can get 
on without traitors." 



And so they parted, with eyes that gleamed 
like tigers. 

Rosa drove home in great agitation, and 
tried to tell Christopher, but choked, and 
became hysterical. The husband x^l^jsi- 
cian coaxed and scolded her out of that ; 
and presently in came Uncle Philip, full 
of the humors of the auction-room. He 
told about the little boy with a delight 
that disgusted Mrs. Staines ; and then was 
particulfirly merry on female friendships. 
"Fancy a man going to a sale with his 
friend, and bidding against him on the 

" She is no friend of mine. We are ene- 
mies for life." 

" And you were to be friends till death," 
said Staines, with a sigh. 

Philip inquired who she was. 

"Mrs. John Cole." 

"Not of Curzon Street ?" 

" Yes." 

" And you have quarreled with her ?" 

" Well, but her husband is a general prac- 

" She is a traitress." 

" But her husband could put a good deal 
of money in Christopher's way." 

" I can't help it. She is a traitress." 

*'And you have quarreled with her about 
an old wardrobe." 

"No, for her disloyalty, and her base 
good-for-nothingness. Oh ! oh ! oh !" 

Uncle Philip got up, looking sour. " Good- 
afternoon, Mrs. Christopher," said he, very 

Christopher accompanied him to the foot 
of the stairs. 

"Well, Christopher," said he, "matrimo- 
ny is a blunder at the best ; and you have 
not done the thing by halves. You have 
married a simpleton. She will be your 

" Uncle Philip, since you only come here 
to insult us, I hope in future you will stay 
at home." 

" Oh ! with pleasure. Sir. Good-by." 


THE lakes and glens, the brown and lofty 
hills, the wild and savage mountains, 
the swift and lovely streams of Scotland 
have been made illustrious by their own 
poets, their own novelist, with a rare good 
fortune that has befallen no other land ; nor 
is there any other portion of Europe that is 
so familiar to transatlantic readers as that 
which has been painted for all ages by the 
magic touch of Scott, or whose more delicate 
and hidden charms live forever in the pas- 
sionate insight of Burns. Many a Bandusian 
fount or tall Soracte rises immortal in the 
pictures of the Scottish bards. The rushing 
Ayr, the mirk midnight, the morning break- 
ing blithe over Craigie-burn, Loch Leven, 
Ben Lomond, the Highland glens, the broom, 
the daisy, or the milk-white thorn, allure 
the traveler from Australia or the Rocky 
Mountains ; and the narrow and barren land 
that pierces the solitude of the Northern 
seas is peopled for all the world with friendly 
forms and faces, and shines in the light from 
heaven.^ Yet x>f^«f^i^>ly he who wanders 
within the shadow of the Pentland Hills, or 
by Magus Muir, may sometimes forget that 
one of the fiercest, the most desperate strug- 
gles of the human intellect for freedom and 
progress was carried out in the lovely scenes 
around him ;^ that -.ouls grand and immut- 
able as their native mountains here resisted 

' "And yet the light that led astray was light from 
heaven." Burns, in his "Cotter's Saturday Night," 
has painted the Covenanter's home. 

2 For the history of the Covenant, Wodrow is the 
fullest authority. See, too, Hetheriugton and Kirk- 
ton. Stanley, Church of Scotland. 


temptation, defied tyranny, and lived and 
died for the countless generations of the 
future ; that the seeds of Scottish genius 
were sown in the perils of Scottish martyrs ; 
and that but for the gentle Hamilton, or the 
fervid Knox, the fierce Cameron, the saintly 
Ren wick. Loch Katrine had wanted its min- 
strel and Ayr been left unsung; that the 
genius of civilization once struggled amidst 
these brown hills and silver streams with 
the genius of decay ; that, like the spirits 
of the Arabian tale, they darted fire from 
their eyes and nostrils ; that the world shook 
with the contest ; and that often the fairer 
genie was forced to turn itself into a worm, 
a fish, or a seed, to escape the malice of its 
foe ; but that, at the last, it consumed its 
enemy to ashes. 

The trials and the tears of Scotland began 
with the German impulse from Luther,*when 
Patrick Hamilton, a student and a visitor at 
Wittenberg, first brought to his native shores 
a spark that was to kindle a general iHu- 
mination ; they were ended by the generous 
policy of William of Orange, whose decision 
and whose vigor fixed forever the course of 
modern civilization. Fair, gentle, learned, 
connected with the ruling families of Scot- 
land, of royal descent, and graced witli all 
that high station, opnlenc(^, or ])()\ver could 
give, Patrick Hamilton, by a lieroic resolu- 
tion, dared first to speak the truth to the 
corrupt clergy of his country, repeated tlir 
lessons of reform he had heard from the 
German teacher, and jxTishcd at the Htake, 
the first martyr of tlu^ Scottish Rcfonnation. 
He was only twenty-three years old : youth, 



genius, virtue alone could fill the yawning 
chasm of decay. ^ It is easy to conceive 
what must have been the cruelty and the 
crimes of the monks, the abbots, the opulent 
bishops, who saw fi'om the windows of St. 
Andrew's the slow fire wreathe around the 
fair form of Patrick Hamilton, his constancy, 
his ardor, and his faith. Yet the most con- 
spicuous trait of the Scottish Reformation is 
its rapidity. The ashes of Hamiltoti and his 
company of martyrs seemed borne on the 
winds to fertilize and awaken the remote 
glens, the distant hamlets, the rising cities. 
Nobles and commons, priests and monks, 
starting up as if from a hideous dream, 
threw off the visions of the papacy.^ The 
friendly hand of Elizabeth drove from Scot- 
land the trained soldiers of France and the 
Guises; and at the cry of the impetuous 
Knox the people dashed down the images 
and pictures of church and cathedral, and 
left shining over the Scottish scenery only 
the wrecks of the fallen monastery — the 
moon-lit ruins of Melrose. 

Whether cherishing some dim recollection 
of the pure faith of lona and its early teach- 
ers, or moved by an innate taste for simple 
converse with the unseen world, Scotland, 
by a sudden stride, passed from the deepest 
gloom of superstition to a faith of intense 
purity. In its papal period it had been 
noted for its abject devotion to the faith of 
Rome. Its landscape was covered with fair, 
rich, and stately abbeys,^ and Cistercian 
and Benedictine, friars black or gray, con- 
sumed in opulent ease the wealth of the na- 
tion. Its bishops were temporal lords, rul- 
ing in no modest pomp over wide domains. 
The priests had engrossed one-half the land 
of a poor nation ; the churches and the ca- 
thedrals glittered with the wealth that had 
been ravished from the cottages and the 
hovels of the peasant, or won from the su- 
perstition of feeble kings. Nor was there 
any land where the clergy were more cor- 
rupt, or the gross manners of a depraved 
hierarchy had been less hidden by a decent 
veil. Suddenly the fervid intellect of the 
gifted" people tore down the whole fabric of 
Italian superstition ; the worship of the Vir- 
gin, the adoration of the saints, relics, im- 
ages, and pictures, were thrown aside with 
unfeigned disgust ; the cruel bishops, monks, 
and priests were chased from the narrow 

1 Hetherington, Hist. Church Scot., i. 26, 39. Ham- 
ilton was burned in 1528, at twenty-three. 

2 Kirkton, i. p. 21, on Scotland. He says " the 
whole nation was converted by lump, and within ten 
years after popery was dischvirged in Scotland there 
were not ten persons of quality to be found who did 
not profess the true reformed religion," etc. See, too, 
Knox, Works. These rude historians arc often vig- 

3 Scott, Prov. Ant. Scotland, ii. 296, describes the 
beauty of Roslyn chapel. Tytler, Scotland, i. 329, 
ii. 397, numbers the rich monasterixis, the fourteen 
Gothic churches. For the wealth of a monastery, see 
ii. 477. 

realm ; and of all the impulses of the Scottish 
nation the strongest, the most lasting, was 
its hatred for the papal rule. 

In the place of that pompous ritual which 
had graced the cathedral of St. Andrew or fill- 
ed the arches of Melrose with pagan splen- 
dors, of that faith which had been crowd- 
ed with legend and tradition, the Scottish 
reformers would accept only the simple 
rites, the unchanging doctrines of the Scrip- 
tures. Not from Luther or Cranmer, not 
even from Calvin and Geneva, but from the 
written thoughts of inspiration alone, would 
they build their church.^ The cathedral 
must be stripped bare and dreary ; the con- 
vent perish ; the very name of bishop, the 
symbol of that foul Italian heresy which had 
so long hung like a poisonous mist over 
Scotland, must be forgotten ; no image nor 
saint must intervene between the believer 
and his Maker ; no formal service must check 
the spontaneous utterances of an animated 
faith. To this bald yet majestic conception 
of a church the whole nation turned with 
singular unanimity. The peasant in the 
wilds of Nithsdale, the traders of Glasgow, 
the noble in his armed palace, accepted the 
novel doctrine — new to that barbarous age ; 
all Scotland leagued together to maintain 
the presbytery, to repel popery or prelacy ; 
a covenant was. signed in 1592 by the chiefs 
of the people, and even by the king ; in the 
close of the sixteenth century the Reforma- 
tion seemed to rule safely and triumphantly 
over that distant land, which, in its earlier 
years apparently incapable of progress, had 
lain the willing prey of priests and friars. 
With one vigorous exercise of latent strength 
the Scottish intellect had freed itself from 
Italian bondage, and might well prepare for 
rapid progress in the new paths of reform. 
Nor could it have foreseen that a century 
of pains and woes, scarcely surpassed in the 
Vaudois valleys or in the fens of Holland, 
was to spring from a sister church and from 
its native kings, and that the darkest period 
in the history of its stern and barren land 
was to come from the malice of Rome dis- 
guised in the thin mask of bishops like Laud 
or Sharp, princes like the first and second 
Charles and the first and second James. 

The part which the Church of England 
was induced to take in the persecution of 
the Presbyterians of Scotland has no de- 
fenders, and can scarcely admit of extenua- 
tion ; it is one of those crimes over wliich 
posterity should lament, and strive by new 
acts of tenderness and of humility to hide 
in sad oblivion;^ a trait of barbarism which 
injudicious writers are apt to condone as 
among the common vices of the age. Yet it 

^ Hetherington, Preface, xiii. 

2 Stanley, Church of Scotland, is inclined to set off 
the faults of one sect agaijist those of another. It 
would be probably better for each to study only its 
own guilt, and make suitable repentance. 


is possible that had the Church of England 
remained what it was when it came freshly- 
moulded from the hands of Latimer and 
Ridley, Cranmer and Eogers, no taint of 
Romish cruelty would have stained its purer 
progress, and it might have gladly united 
with its northern brethren in the pursuit of 
the germs of a lost Christianity. It was the 
well-known design of the English reformers 
of the reign of Edward VI. to receive into 
one communion the rising intellects of every 
land. Exiles from Italy, or Bucer from Al- 
sace, shared their hospitality ; the question 
of rites and ceremonial was determined by 
a wide liberality ; the doctrines of Luther 
and Calvin might blend in the same sect.^ 
But Hooper, Ridley, Latimer, and Cranmer 
perished in the flames ; and when the En- 
glish Church was renewed under Elizabeth 
and James I., its expansive and liberal spirit 
was lost in the arbitrary tendencies of its 
rulers. It had ceased to sympathize with 
the people, and had learned to lean upon 
kings and nobles. Its rites were corrupted, 
its papal tendencies were fostered into bale- 
ful vigor ; the Low-Churchmen and the Pu- 
ritans were driven from its communion, or 
held in unwilling bondage by stringent laws ; 
and at length the insane dreamer and fanat- 
ic, Laud, a new Dominic or Loyola, assailed 
the lingering Protestantism of the people 
with bitter persecution, denounced the Low- 
Churchmen or the Puritans as worse than in- 
fidels, and amused his leisure hours by slit- 
ting the ears of honest reformers, and filling 
the prisons with reputable clergymen. 

Of the madness of princes, the least ex- 
cusable seems the attempt of the Stuart 
kings to force bishops and episcopal rites 
upon the Presbyterians of Scotland. They 
knew that three-fourths of the people hated 
the name of bishop as they hated that of 
pope ; that, except a few traitors or hire- 
lings, no Scotchman could endure the En- 
glish rites and service ; that the Scotch 
Church had resolved to adhere to its severe 
simplicity with heroic tenacity. Yet the 
Stuarts were equally resolute to put down 
religious insubordination. They saw, per- 
haps, that the Scotch Church was the crea- 
tion of the people rather than of kings; 
that it owed its existence to the human la- 
bors and the divine gifts of men to whom 
royalty and nobility seemed but paltry bau- 
bles, to be dashed to pieces when they stood 
in the pathway of advancing truth ; and that 
the doctrine of passive obedience which the 
English prelates had accepted with easy sub- 
servience could never be made acceptable to 
the followers of Knox and Wishart.^ But 

1 The liberality of the early English Church is whol- 
ly forgotten by the ritualists, who trace their ceremo- 
nial to Edward VI. 

2 Baillie writes, Letter to Strang, 1638: "Our maine 
feare is to have our religion lost, our throat cutted, 
our poor countrey made ane English province." 


whatever might be their motive, no entreat- 
ies, no menaces of the angry people, and even 
no real dangers could dissuade the stubborn 
Stuarts from their fatal resolution. James 
I. persisted in forcing upon Scotland his bar- 
ren scheme of episcopacy, amidst the scoffs 
and jeers of his countrymen. His successor, 
Charles I., animated by the daring bigotry 
of Laud, determined to convert the Scotch 
to the prelatical creed by the fiery sword of 
persecution. A service-book was prepared, 
under Laud's especial care, to be read in all 
the Scottish churches ; the simple Presby- 
terian rites were to be suppressed by law ; 
the arms of England and the authority of 
the king were to be employed in reducing 
to subjection that fervid intellect which 
had so vigorously cast off" the spiritual tyr- 
anny of Rome. 

For a time it seemed as if Charles and 
Laud might prove successful. The Scottish 
clergy were apparently terrified and degen- 
erate. Laud's service-book was brought to 
Scotland by hireling curates, and amidst 
the horror and shame of the Presbyterian 
nation, the bishop and the priest prepared 
to celebrate their popish rites in Edinburgh 
and Glasgow. Then suddenly the nation 
rose, struck by the heroic act of a woman, 
whose name, made renowned by the wonder- 
ful results of her swift resolution, may well 
be associated with a Joan of Arc or a Char- 
lotte Corday. On the day when the new rit- 
ual was to be performed in the High Church 
of St. Giles, at Edinburgh, vast throngs filled 
the streets, and followed the Anglican dean 
as he made his way to the pulpit.^ The 
church was crowded with an eager but hos- 
tile congregation ; and scarcely had the first 
words of the service passed the lips of the 
reader when Jenny Geddes, an old woman, 
sprang up in her place and cried out, " Vil- 
lain, will you read the mass at my lug?" 
She lifted the stool upon which she had 
been sitting in her vigorous arms and flung 
it at the head of the astonished dean. Jen- 
ny's decided act was no doubt in singularly 
bad taste, but she became from that moment 
a leader of the people. The Bishop of Edin- 
burgh in vain strove to soothe the enraged 
congregation ; the church was filled with 
uproar ; the dean and bishop fled, and were 
saved with difficulty from the rage of the 
angry crowd ; the impulse swelled over Scot- 
land, and in every hamlet or city the daring 
of Jenny Geddes was told with delight, and 
a fierce resolution was formed by niiniHters 
and people to live and die " Presbyterian 

The year 1638 is held sacred in the annals 
of the Scottish Church as the moment when 
its piety was most fervid, its courage un- 

1 I have followed the common story of Jenny Ood- 
des, though Burton, Hist. Scot., varies the narrative. 
So, too, Stanley, p. 71. 



doubted ; wlien, amidst a fierce enthusiabsm 
that bound all Scotland in one united senti- 
ment/ on the Ist of March, in the Greyfri- 
ars' Church at Edinburgh, was laid out on a 
tombstone an immense parchment that pro- 
claimed the renewal of the Covenant ; when 
Avith enthusiastic joy vast throngs pressed 
forward to sign the solemn league, until the 
roll was too narrow to contain the signa- 
tures ; when many found room to sign only 
their initials, and some affixed their names 
in letters of blood. It was a covenant to 
defy papacy and prelacy, and to maintain 
the church of the Scriptures ; but it was, 
too, the appeal of a free jieople against the 
claims of every form of despotism. Nor can 
it be doubted that this fervid outbreak of 
independent thought amidst the bleak hills 
of Scotland helped largely to rouse the peo- 
ple of England to rebellion, and to secure 
the liberties of Europe and America ; that 
the shrill outcry of Jenny Geddes was the 
signal for a revolution whose waves are still 
swelling over the earth. In the autumn of 
the same memorable year, when the Ayr 
murmured mournfully through its barren 
fields and Ben Lomond w^as clad in snow, 
the General Assembly of the Scottish Church 
met at Glasgow. Henderson, the boldest of 
its leaders, presided. No terms were any 
longer to be kept with the faithless king or 
the intrusive bishops.^ The Protestant lords 
and their armed retainers guarded the pa- 
triotic Assembly; the royal commissioner 
was awed into silence ; amidst a fierce ex- 
citement that had been gathering through 
generations of tyranny the Scottish clergy 
abolished episcopacy, declared the re-estab- 
lishment of the Presbyterian discipline, and, 
with deep and ominous applause, separated 
to arouse the nation to the necessity of de- 
fending by arms, on many a battle-field, the 
faith they had inherited from their fathers. 

The " Bishop's War" followed, and twice 
the obstinate king led his English troops in 
vain efforts to force his prelates upon the 
united Scotch.^ But the most preposterous 
of invasions closed in the utter ruin of the 
plans of Laud and Charles ; the Scotch forces 
under Leslie easily routed the disaffected 
English ; and the king was forced, in No- 
vember, 1640, to assemble that great Parlia- 
ment that established Presbyterianism in 
England, and brought Laud and Strafford to 
the block. The crown and the prelatical 
church fell together. The compact which 
had been signed on the tombstone at Edin- 
burgh was enlarged into the Solemn League 
and Covenant, and ruled supreme from the 

1 Stanley, p. 73, notices, with some carelessness of 
style, "the universal rush." 

2 Iletherington, i. 363, gives an account of the vari- 
ous covenants. See, too, Gilfillan's animated " Mar- 
tyrs and Heroes." 

3 Milton began now to write against prelacy, and 
seems to have learned much from Scotland. 

Orkneys to the Straits of Dover. Yet when 
Charles I. had perished on the scaffold, the 
imprudent Scots, in a moment of intense 
loyalty, x>erhaps of uncontrollable remorse, 
gave their allegiance to his worthless son, 
and were conquered by the arms of Crom- 
well. But from 1640 to 1660 the Scottish 
Church enjoyed a golden period of compar- 
ative repose; papists and prelatists were 
chased from the barren glens and populous 
cities; Henderson and Baillie, Guthrie and 
Gillespie, adorned its pulpit with ardent if 
unpolished eloquence ; the swift inroads 
of Montrose and the vigor of Cromwell 
checked its pride, but scarcely disturbed its 
supremacy. Nor when, in 1660, with fond 
and glad congratulations, the Scots wel- 
comed back the wandering Charles II. to 
his ancestral throne, could they have imag- 
ined that the ungrateful and cruel Stuart, 
as cold, as faithless as his ancestress, Mary, 
would commence a persecution against the 
Church of the Covenant that rivaled the 
atrocities of the pagan emperors, and hal- 
lowed the fairest landscapes of Scotland 
with the heroic memories of unconquerable 

In the period of twenty-eight years (1660- 
1688) between the accession of Charles and 
the flight of James II. occurred the final 
conflict of the Presbyterians with the prel- 
atists of England.^ The terrors of the spec- 
tacle deepened toward its close. Then were 
heard those heroic testimonies " emitted" 
by cultivated and resolute saints on the 
scaffold, in the noisome prison, or on the 
wintry heath ; then a throng of involuntary 
anchorites, yet rejoicing in their desolation, 
fled like an Anthony or a Benedict to the 
caves and ravines of the wildest glens, were 
hunted with blood-hounds, and shot down 
as they shivered on the lonely moors ; then, 
in the fairest retreats of the picturesque 
land, immense assemblages gathered around 
their field-preachers, and the joyful season 
of prayer and praise was often ended by the 
oaths of the wild dragoons and the ready 
pistol of Claverhouse; then terror, pains, 
and torture, fines and imprisonment, slowly 
seemed to corrode the vigor of the Scottish 
intellect. The conflict seemed near its close. 
The churches were held by prelatical curates. 
The Anglican bishops ruled with haughty 
supremacy over the Scottish Kirk. Its fair- 
est ornaments had been ravished away by 
death. Henderson had died early; Gilles- 
pie had preceded him ; Livingstone was an 
exile. A throng of famous men, eminent 
for genius, eloquence, and moral worth, had 
yielded to the rigors of Bass Rock prison. 

1 Hetherington, ii. p. 1. 

2 " During these twenty-eight years of persecution," 
says Howie (Worthies, p. 50S), " it is computed that 
not less than 18,000 persons suffered death, or the ut- 
most hardships and extremities," and this from a small 



hiad found consumption and fever in their 
damp caves and forests, or had sought shel- 
ter in Lej^den and Geneva. Of the men who 
in 1638 had signed the memorable Covenant 
that had given a foretaste of liberty to En- 
gland, few had escaped the rage of the per- 
secutor. The Scottish Church was lost : the 
people had been apparently won over to the 
side of bigotry and of despotism. A few 
wild Cameronians alone, half crazed or half 
inspired by suffering, foretold from their 
dismal retreats, where they hid from the 
troopers of Claverhouse, the discomfiture of 
their Neros and Domitians, the horrible judg- 
ments from above that awaited the last Stu- 
arts. Nor was it until the reformers of Hol- 
land stretched out their friendly hand to the 
English as well as the Scottish Church, that 
the cloud of woe forever passed away, and 
the Scottish intellect began to ripen into 
mature vigor. 

No portion of his subjects had reason to 
look for kindlier treatment or more grateful 
consideration from Charles IL than that vig- 
orous church which had first placed the 
crown upon his head when he was a power- 
less exile, ^ which had fought in his cause, 
with useless valor, against the arms of Crom- 
well, and had welcomed with ardor his re- 
turn to his ancient throne; nor could Scot- 
land, ever full of a secret enthusiasm, be led 
to discover, except by terrible pains, the 
utter unworthiness of its native kings. It 
was therefore with a kind of dull amaze- 
ment that the Scottish nation, almost with 
the first notes of the restoration sounding 
amidst its valleys, and echoing from the Frith 
of Forth to the Western Isles, felt the cruel 
hand of its destroyer. Charles II. had come 
back from Paris and Madrid a convert to the 
loose theories of the papal rule. He feared 
the rigid scrutiny of reform, and was resolved 
to involve the nation and the age in his own 
moral death. The English Church was once 
more made the instrument of a cruel king. 
On the plea of renewing prelacy in the heart 
of unwilling Scotland, bishops, priests, and 
curates, service-books and surplices, were 
ordered to be adopted by the astonished na- 
tion; the whole Scottish people were once 
more commanded to abandon Presbyterian- 
ism. The terrors of the Northern persecu- 
tion preceded and perhaps encouraged the 
massacre of the Vaudois and the expulsion 
of the Huguenots. 

At the head of the Scottish reformers stood 
Archil)ald Campbell, Marquis of Argyle.' 
His gravity, his prudence, the purity of his 

J Keith, Scottish Bishops, may be consulted for the 
Anglican side of the question, p. 492. He thinks that 
in the beginning of Charles the Second's reign Scot- 
land was not averse to prelacy. But why, then, did 
it resist ? 

2 Wodrow, i. 130. "He was the head of the Cov- 
enanters of Scotland." His death " was a blow at the 
root of all that had been done," etc. 

life, and the ardor of his zeal had made him 
the chief agent in all the religious changes 
that had passed over his country since the 
famous rising of 1637 ; his scholarship was 
considerable, his courage, though sometimes 
wavering, had often been displayed in field 
as well as in council; his territories had 
been ravaged by the predatory bands of Mon- 
trose and the Irish invaders. Yet his loyalty 
to Charles II. had been as conspicuous as his 
pious zeal, and when the youthful prince was 
proclaimed king at Scone, the Marquis of 
Argyle had placed the crown upon his head. 
When Charles was driven from Scotland he 
acknowledged the faithful services of the 
marquis, and promised, on the word of a 
king, that, should he ever be restored to his 
throne, he would repay with gratitude the 
favors he had received and the large sums 
of money for which he was indebted to Ar- 
gyle. The Restoration came. Charles was 
King of England. One of his earliest acts 
was to direct the trial and execution of his 
benefactor. The faithless Stuart remembered 
the l>old words in which Argyle had reproved 
his vices; he resolved to strike down the 
most powerful of the Scottish Presbyterians, 
and intimate its doom to the unsuspecting 
church. The marquis, who had gone up to 
London, with some misgivings, to welcome 
his early friend and sovereign, was at once 
thrown into the Tower. He was afterward 
sent to Scotland, and confined in the common 
prison at Edinburgh. He was condemned to 
die. Ho parted from his faithful wife with 
words of resignation. " I could die," he said, 
" like a Roman ; I would rather die like a 
Christian." He put on his hat and cloak, 
and, followed by several noblemen and 
friends, went down the street and with great 
serenity mounted the scaffold. He kneeled 
down, he prayed, gave the signal, and his 
head was severed from his body. It is easy 
to conceive witli what indignation and what 
grief the Scottish Covenanters beheld the 
fate of the wise and generous Argyle, the 
first martyr of the new persecution ; nor 
could j)resbyter or layman any longer doubt 
that the unsparing tyrant who sat on the 
English throne had resolved to repay with 
no less bitter ingratitude the early devotion 
of the Scottish Church.* 

Nobler victims soon followed, more devo- 
ted and more resolute than Argyle. The fa- 
vorite pastors and teachers of Scotland were 
the shining marks of the English persecu- 
tors. Sharp, renegade and traitor, ruled over 
the Scottish prelacy; the Covenant was burn- 
ed by the common hangman amidst the sliouts 
of a disorderly throng, and an edict was is- 
sued (1662) commanding all Pr<'sl)yt«'rian 
ministers to submit to the l)iHhop of the dio- 
cese or be expelled from their livings. The 

1 Howie, Scots Worthies, Marquis of Argyle. Wod- 
row, i. 157. 



soldiers were ordered to drag them from their 
pulpits should they refuse to obey. But the 
clergy, animated by a heroism that has no 
parallel, except, perhaps, in the same land 
and under a not dissimilar impulse, prepared 
to abandon their comfortable homes in the 
depth of winter, when the chill winds and 
snow swept over the narrow borders of Scot- 
land, and with their wives and children go 
forth as beggars rather than submit to an 
episcopal rule. On a sad and memorable 
Sabbath, amidst the tears of crowded con- 
gregations, nearly four hundred ministers 
delivered their last sermons from their cus- 
tomary pulpits; the next week they were 
homeless wanderers, often hiding in caverns, 
or sleeping upon the lonely moors. In a re- 
cent example of Scottish devotion, almost in 
our own generation, the clergy once more 
abandoned their comfortable manses to live 
in pressing want and die in fatal privations ; 
yet the friendly hands of countless admirers 
at last relieved the sufferings of the Free 
Church. But for the Covenanters, with their 
starving families, no friend could give aid, 
except by stealth. I'he government pur- 
sued the helpless wanderers with ceaseless 
rigor. Sharp and his dreadful hierarchy 
laughed aloud at the feeble lamentations of 
aged Covenanters as they condemned them 
to the scaffold ; and the Romish agents who 
ruled at the court of Charles exulted as they 
saw the tears of Scotland, the madness of the 
Anglican Church. 

Low as had fallen that solemn Covenant 
which in 1638 had been signed by Scotsmen 
in letters of blood, and in 1643 had been ex- 
tended over all England, the foundation of 
a commonwealth, its children still clung to 
its memory and prayed for its restoration. 
Driven from the cities and their usual pul- 
pits, the exiled ministers still gathered 
around them their faithful people, and 
preached in lonely glens and secret solitudes 
to vast and eager throngs. The Church of 
the Covenant flourished with new strength 
amidst its desolation. The parish churches 
were abandoned ; the gross and illiterate 
curates who had been installed by the bish- 
ops were met with jeers and mockery by 
their new congregations ; but whenever it 
was whispered among the hills that a Welch 
or a Blackadder would preach in some se- 
cluded valley, troops of peasants and the 
more daring of the nobles and gentry climb- 
ed the rough country roads, crossed streams, 
hills, and mountains, and gathered in thou- 
sands to listen to the touching exhortations 
of the heroic pastors. A deep religious so- 
lemnity filled all the land. New converts 
were won; the spirit of faith revived; the 
Covenant was taken anew, and the Presby- 
terian clergy, wandering from house to 
house, from shire to shire, saw with no com- 
mon joy the devotion of the people. But 
their persecutors, the bishops, resolved to 

deprive the Scottish Church of its refuge 
in the wilderness, and a law was passed 
making it sedition to hold religious meet- 
ings without the consent of a prelate. 
Troops were poured into the Presbyterian 
counties. The coarse soldiers invaded pious 
households with fierce oaths and painful rib- 
aldry ; they robbed, they beat, they defiled ; 
heavy fines impoverished the industrious, 
and the gross vices of the prelatical soldiers 
filled with disgust the stern and resolute 

At length the people (1666) rose in arms. 
A spectacle of intolerable cruelty roused 
them to hopeless rebellion. An aged man — 
the story may recall one of the vivid pictures 
of Livy — was seized by the soldiers of Sir 
William Turner for refusing to pay the bish- 
op's fine ; they had bound his hands, and were 
threatening to roast him on a gridiron, when 
two or three fugitive Covenanters inter- 
fered.^ The soldiers were made prisoners ; 
the people sprang to arms, and Turner him- 
self was captured in his bed at Dumfries. 
Three thousand Covenanters gathered near 
the river Clyde, but at the approach of a 
hostile force under Dalziel they wandered 
through storm and cold to the Peutland Hills, 
whose bold and massive outline bounds the 
scenery of Edinburgh, and with worn, dis- 
heartened, and diminished forces, awaited 
the attack of the foe. The Covenanters 
stood on a little knoll ; Dalziel charged them, 
and was driven back. The battle raged until 
evening, but the faint and famished peasants 
were no match for his trained soldiers. They 
fled, defeated, in the gloom of the dull No- 
vember night, and the hopes of Scotland 
seemed to perish forever in the battle of the 
Pentland Hills. A new and terrible severity 
was now exercised through all the rebellious 
districts f men were hanged, shot, and tor- 
tured upon slight suspicion ; a woman was 
thrown into a hole full of toads and reptiles 
because she refused to betray a friend ; the 
timid Presbyterians began to frequent the 
prelatical services, and the more resolute hid 
in caves and forests. Yet the field meetings 
still renewed the dying intellect of the na- 
tion, and if Scotland failed to sink into the 
moral and mental feebleness of Italv and 
Spain under the tyranny of Sharp and his 
us.urping church, the cause must be sought 
for in those centres of mental progress that 
were still kept open in the wilderness. It 
was death to attend one of these conventi- 
cles. The dragoons shot down without re- 
morse the lonely Covenanter who was found 
climbing the hills to join his brethren in 
their solemn worship, or dashed, pistol in 
hand, into the pious gatherings. But the 
meetings increased in number and fervor.^ 

1 Hetherington, ii. 45. 

2 Hetherington, ii. 35. The hands of the prisoners 
were cut off ; they were racked and tortured. 

3 Wodrow, ii. 347. See an account of the Pentland 


The aTvful majesty of wild and sterile nature 
looked down for many years upon tlie only 
services of the Presbyterian Church. The 
cry of the eagle and the ptarmigan, the 
bleating of the sheep upon the mountain 
pastures, the thunders of the mountain tor- 
rent, mingled with the psalms of happy mul- 
titudes, and blended not inharmoniously 
with the simplest form of religious adora- 
tion. Amidst savage hills and gloomy glens, 
beneath the blue or the clouded sky, the ex- 
iled church often celebrated its marriage 
rites, baptized its infants in the springs of 
living waters, pointed its mourners to the 
golden gates that were opening above, and 
recounted with exultation the growing cat- 
alogue of its martyrs. It is scarcely possi- 
ble that the Scottish intellect has ever since 
been wrought to such a pitch of heroic vigor 
as w^hen Cameron denounced all tyrants in 
his wilderness, or Eenwick opened in fancy 
the joys of paradise to suffering throngs ; 
when the minister was lodged in a cave, and 
the congregation worshijied in the fields 
with dauntless fervor, in the expectation of 
instant death. It is plain that but for the 
ardor of the Presbyterian clergy one of the 
mightiest centres of mental progress would 
have perished in blind fanaticism. 

A painful and terrible event next deepen- 
ed the rigors of persecution, and threw some 
discredit upon the cause of the Covenant. As 
Sharp, Archbishop of St. Andrew's, was driv- 
ing in his coach over Magus Muir, where the 
wild moor-land spreads away to the hills of 
Fife and touches the sandy shore of the Ger- 
man Ocean, he was met by a party of twelve 
Covenanters. Several of them were fierce 
and lawless men, who had felt the severe 
rule of the bishops in their own persons or 
in the fate of their friends and neighbors, 
and they were keeping watch on Magus 
Muir for one of the inferior persecutors, 
noted for torturing women and children. He 
did not come, but in his stead rode up Sharp, 
with his daughter Isabel, surrounded by the 
state of his high office, and crowned with the 
wages of crime. Renegade from the Presby- 
terian faith, one of the chief authors of the 
miseries of his country, the Covenanters be- 
lieved that it was no mere chance that had 
delivered the archbishop into their hands. 
Heaven, they thought, had ordained that he 
should die. Balfour of Burley and his com- 
panions dragged the old man from the coach. 
Hackstoun stood apart, refusing to interfere. 
The Covenanters plunged their swords in 
the body of their chief foe, and laid him 
dead on the silent moor. His daughter Isa- 
bel, whose tears and prayers had failed to 
touch the iron hearts of Burley and liis 
friends, was left to keep watch over the 
body of her father, and the twelve Cove- 

rising in Howie, Worthies, p. 575, taken from Blackad- 
der's memoirs. 


nanters rode safely away. Yet the death of 
Sharp was fearfully avenged in new perse- 
cutions. The " Highland host" of eight thou- 
sand savage clansmen poured down from the 
mountains to prey upon the hapless west;^ 
all Scotland was racked by fines and tor- 
tures ; and at the head of his dragoons Clav- 
erhouse began now that career of horrors 
that has made his name the symbol of mur- 
derous hate. Ho murdered women and chil- 
dren with his own hand ; he shot down with 
his pistol John Brown, the Ayrshire carrier. 
To chase and kill a Covenanter was to Clav- 
erhouse no worse sport than to hunt and 
bring down a stag. 

The battle of Drumclog (1G79) soon fol- 
lowed the outrages of Claverhouso and his 
dragoons. On the desolate and distant 
moors, amidst morasses and quaking fens, 
where Loudon Hill rises majestic over the 
lonely landscape and looks down upon the 
Avon and the Clyde, on a Sabbath morning, 
June 1, assembled a great throng of men, 
women, children, to celebrate in the secure 
retreat the forbidden services of the Presby- 
terian faith. We may well conceive the 
singular aspect of these woodland congre- 
gations. The men were usually armed. 
Some were on horseback, experienced sol- 
diers from the European wars. Balfour of 
Burley stood amidst the throng, and not far 
off was Hackstoun, the sharer in his recent 
crime. Ministers, stealing from their caves, 
came to arouse the ardor of the people. 
Women, and even children, were ready to 
die for their faith ; the blue banner of the 
Covenant, lifted in the wilderness, shone 
over the fells of Drumclog ; nor was there 
a coward or a traitor in all the animated 
throng. It was the first day of summer; 
the milk-white thorn was blooming in the 
lowlands ; the yellow broom covered the 
sterile hills; the services began with un- 
usual fervor, and the exhortations of able 
pastors were heard with no common inter- 
est in the wide amphitheatre of morasses.^ 
But each man in the congregation felt the 
peril of his act. Claverhouse, it was known, 
was ranging over the country in search of 
conventicles. Balfour of Burley and the 
armed Covenanters had come to Drumclog 
resolved to defend themselves in case the 
dragoons should approach. A watchman 
was posted on a neighboring height to an- 
nounce the first appearance of the foe. While 
the vast throng were gathered around their 
preachers, the carbine of the sentinel startled 
them ; he ran down fr()m his station to warn 
his countrymen of their danger. Claver- 
house was near. The congregation was at 

1 Wodrow, ii. 428, describes the terrible outrages of 
the IIighlandf;rfl. 

2 Mr. Douglas led the services. Claverhouso had his 
horse shot under him. See a brief account in Howl*!, 
Worthies, p. ."581, Keith, Bishops, 491, insists that the 
Covenantors were all rebels. 



once arranged in the order of defense. The 
women and children were placed in the rear. 
Long lines of footmen stood before them, on 
either wing a band of horsemen. A broad 
morass covered the front of the Covenanters ; 
their unpracticed soldiers had been arranged 
with military skill ; and when Claverhouse 
sent a flag, commanding them to surrender, 
a shout of defiance rang along the ranks. 
After a few moments of silence, the whole 
army broke into a trumpet-like psalm, and, 
ruled by intense devotion, sang, 

" In Judah's land God is well known, 
His name in Israel's great;" 

and as all deep passion seems to express it- 
self in music, poetry, and song, so the wild 
landscape of Drumclog echoed to the peal- 
ing chant of a thousand voices, resolved to 
perish that Scottish intellect might be free. 

With a fierce shout of malignant ha- 
tred, Claverhouse and his famous dragoons 
plunged into the morass to reach their un- 
offending foes, nor did they probably sup- 
pose that the Scottish peasants and their 
untried leaders would sustain for a mo- 
ment their impetuous charge. But a rain 
of bullets met them as they came on. The 
veteran soldiers wavered and fled before 
the impenetrable line of inspired peasants. 
Claverhouse, whose courage equaled his 
severity, was borne back by the fugitives. 
" Charge !" cried a bold Covenanter, in the 
eventful moment. Burley, Hackstoun, or 
Hamilton led on their horse and foot across 
a morass, a ditch, and pursued the retreating 
soldiers, and Claverhouse, struggling with 
fierce obstinacy to repel the attack, was 
driven at last to fly up Calder Hill, and 
through the village of Strath aven. He cut 
his way through the country people who 
rose to capture him, and fled from Glasgow 
to Edinburgh. The victorious peasants 
treated their prisoners with signal mild- 
ness ; but a wild thrill of hope ran through 
the cottages and the castles of the Low- 
lands, and thousands flocked to join the 
standard of the Covenant, trusting that the 
arm of the Lord was at length outstretched 
to shield his people. We have scarcely 
space to notice the brief period of hope be- 
tween the victory of Drumclog and the utter 
discomfiture at Bothwell Bridge. But the 
ministers now came forth from their caves 
to greet their rejoicing people. For a few 
weeks the Presbyterian services were cele- 
brated in the west, with no terrors of the 
wild dragoons. The army of the Covenant 
was swelled by steady accessions, and had 
some practiced leader arisen to rule and 
guide them, they might have driven the prel- 
ates from the borders of Scotland. Cour- 
age, intellect, vigor, enthusiasm, were never 
wanting, but the disorderly throng of liery 
patriots never found a commander. All was 
tumult and dissension in the camp of the 

Covenanters ; the ministers, the generals, 
and the people aided the strange confusion, 
and even when at Bothwell Bridge the pow- 
erful English army, under Monmouth, ap- 
proached the unhappy Scots, the clergy and 
the commanders still contended with each 
other upon trivial points of doctrine and of 
discipline. Five thousand brave but disor- 
derly Scotsmen stood behind the rippling 
Clyde, guarding Bothwell Bridge ; had they 
been united under a Cromwell or a Leslie, 
they had beaten back the invaders and driv- 
en the Stuarts over the Tweed. 

On another Sabbath morning, three weeks 
after the battle of Drumclog, the English 
forces, led by the Duke of Monmouth, ap- 
peared before the Scottish camp. They 
were ten thousand strong. Among their 
ranks were Claverhouse and his dragoons, 
Livingstone and the cruel Dalziel, the 
"Highland host," fierce and savage, fresh 
from their merciless outrages in the west, 
and several English regiments, the flower of 
the invading troops. Struck with alarm, 
the Covenanters had sent deputies to Mon- 
mouth offering terms of submission, but 
they were refused ; they were ordered to lay 
down their arms and submit themselves to 
the mercy of the king. Half an hour was 
allowed them for reflection. When it ex- 
pired the enemy moved swiftly on to seize 
Bothwell Bridge or ford the narrow stream. 
Burley, Hackstoun, and Nisbetled on a por- 
tion of the Covenanters, and with fierce and 
desperate energy defended the river and the 
bridge. For an hour the English were held 
at bay by the furious fire ; column after col- 
umn pressed forward and were driven back 
decimated and broken by the unyielding 
Scots ; Clyde ran red with the blood of its 
children and its foes ; and only when their 
ammunition failed were the brave Presby- 
terians forced from the shelter of their na- 
tive stream. At length the dragoons, the 
Highlanders, and the Life Guards poured 
over the bridge, swept through the flyiug 
host of Covenanters, now no longer offering 
any resistance, and, led by Claverhouse, 
burning with revenge, inflicted horrible 
atrocities among the helpless throng. Hun- 
dreds fell in the merciless massacre. Burley 
strove to rally his men for a last struggle ; a 
random shot broke his sword-arm; he ut- 
tered a curse upon the hand that fired it, 
and sought safety in flight. He escaped to 
Holland, and there closed in peace his life 
of stern and terrible labors. Claverhouse 
was now the conqueror of the Covenant, 
and, although the gentler Monmouth strove 
to soften the horrors of the victory, could 
not be restrained from gratifying his rage 
against the vanquished. Sweeping at the 
head of his wild horsemen over the parishes 
of Galloway, he covered the land with mas- 
sacres, or filled the prisons with men, women, 
and children. The cruelty of the victors^. 


indeed, can scarcely be equaled lq history. 
Five Presbyterian clergymen, who had no 
share in the battle, were taken to Magus 
Muir, executed, and hung in chains on the 
spot where Sharp had perished. Twelve 
hundred prisoners were collected in Grey- 
friars' church-yard at Edinburgh, where the 
Covenant had first been signed, with no shel- 
ter from the bleak sky, no bed but the damp, 
chill earth. Many died; seme escaped or 
were set free ; the rest were sent as slaves to 
Barbadoes ; but two hundred, happily for 
themselves, perhaps, were lost in a furious 
storm. All Scotland was now held in a ter- 
rible subjection, and its people submitted in 
rage and gloom to the general prevalence of 
the episcopal ritual. 

Yet still, in the deepest and wildest re- 
cesses of their native land, the more resolute 
and enthusiastic of the Covenanters kept 
untarnished the purity of the Scottish faith. 
On dank morasses, where the peat water 
was their only drink ; in dark and misty 
glens, forests surrounded by lofty mount- 
ains, and rifts of the earth hidden deep 
amidst the bogs ; in caves covered up by 
brush-wood, and wet with unwholesome dis- 
tillations from the rock, might be seen groups 
of wild and stalwart men, with grizzly 
beards, eyes gleaming with a strange light, 
and countenances often glowing amidst their 
sufferings with a holy joy. They were the 
persecuted remnant of the Covenanters. 
Each carried a sword and a little clasped 
Bible. They still held their forbidden serv- 
ices in the loneliest retreats, but they were 
no longer those vast and joyous throngs that 
in the less dangerous period had gathered 
on the banks of the Clyde or in the broad 
shelter of Loudon Hill. A few famished 
and weary men, driven from the haunts of 
cultivated life, met to worship in some yawn- 
ing chasm or beneath a towering rock, and 
to gather those sweet visions of perpetual 
bliss for which they had exchanged all that 
the world held valuable. The cave of John 
Brown, the Ayrshire carrier, was a jutting 
rock, hidden far down in a ravine amidst the 
moors ; yet here he heard the glad voices of 
piouG exiles, and joined in the most joyous 
services he had ever known. The young, 
fair, consumptive Renwick slept on the wet 
moors ; and John Welch eluded the keen pur- 
suit of Claverhouse by ceaseless wanderings 
over hill and dale. But the most secluded 
cavern often proved no safe retreat from the 
merciless dragoons. With blood-hounds and 
baying dogs they traversed the glens in 
search of their i)rey, and when they haxl 
found a cave tenanted'by Covenanters, fired 
their carbines into its mouth, and massacred 
all its inmates.* Nor is it wonderful that 
these stern and unyielding victims of an in- 
tolerable tyranny, shut out from the society 

1 Wodrow, iv. 183. 


of their race, should have seen amidst their 
solitudes strange glimpses of the sjjiritual 
world, should have encountered Satan bodi- 
ly in the wilderness, and have beheld terri- 
ble visions of the final doom of their perse- 
cutors. To his devoted followers the hunted 
and weary pastor was often invested with 
magic and supernatural powers.* He who 
refused him a shelter was crushed beneath 
his falling house. His reproof was often an 
omen of death ; he foretold the fate of his 
friends or his enemies. In all their miseries 
the Scottish eremites were raised to a high 
pitch of spiritual gifts ; and Alexander Pe- 
den, in his cave covered by a willow bush, 
was believed to possess the power to strike 
men dead by a word, and a clear insight into 
the future that opened to his followers the 
destiny of nations. 

One of the most successful of the wander- 
ing preachers in eluding the chase of the 
dragoons was John Welch, a descendant of 
John Knox.^ A high price was set on his 
head ; avarice and hate stimulated his pur- 
suers. Claverhouse, on one occasion, rode 
forty miles to seize the valuable prize, yet 
the gifted preacher disappeared at his ap- 
proach, and was enabled to escape to Lon- 
don, where he died (1681), and was afterward 
buried in his native land. For twenty years 
John WeFch wandered amidst the mountains 
of Scotland, hunted with blood - hounds, 
chased by dragoons ; and the spirit of John 
Knox seemed renewed in this wonderful 
man, who gave up all the advantages of ease 
and station to preserve the vigor of the na- 
tional faith. He was highly educated, one 
of the most successful preachers of his time, 
when, in 1661, he resolved to abandon his 
flourishing parish church, where his ances- 
tors had preached, and go forth, a homeless 
wanderer, rather than obey the intrusive 
bishops. On the last Sabbath of his service 
all the parish crowded to hear his j)arting 
words. They followed him with tears when 
he left the pulpit ; many crossed with him 
through Cluden Water,^ and pursued him 
along the road with bitter lamentation as 
he passed from their sight. When a curate, 
some months afterward, attempted to take 
possession of his church, the people drove 
him out, and several of them were arrested 
and fined for the offense. But from that 
moment, for nearly twenty years, the voice 
of the mild, meek, yet eloquent and daring 
rebel never ceased to echo amidst his native 
hills, nor could all the vigilance of the bish- 
ops and the dragoons silence the per])etual 
protest of the descendant of Knox. He de- 
claimed against ])relacy to immense throngs, 
that si)rang up as if by magic in tin; lonely 
fields of Fife and the shadow of Falkland 

1 Burton, Hist. Scot., ii. 296, thinks theae preacbcm 
"a formidable body." 

2 Howie, Wortliies, John Welch. 

3 iiowie, WorthicH, 894. 



Wood. The parish churches were deserted 
whenever it Avas known that John Welch 
■was lurkin<; among the hills, and would meet 
his faithful peojjle. He was no advocate 
of submission. He was active at Pentland 
Hills, and for four years after that fatal de- 
feat was hidden from sight, hunted upon his 
native mountains like a stag. In 1C74 he 
appears again, preaching to great throngs in 
the county of Fife. Converts were made in 
great numbers ; the Countess of Crawford 
cried out that she yielded to his eloquence, 
and the Chancellor Rothes, the bitterest of 
the persecutors, found in his own church at 
Leslie no one but his own family — all the 
people had stolen away to an armed con- 
venticle. Once more John Welch disap- 
peared among the hills. Five hundred 
pounds were offered for his capture. He al- 
ways traveled armed, and attended usually 
by several friends. In 1678 were celebrated 
communion seasons of rare enjoyment, and 
the long tables, spread on lovely meadows 
beneath the open sky, were thronged with 
3000 members. Yet sometimes John Welch 
preached on the frozen surface of the Tweed, 
and had no better pulpit than a field of ice. 
At Bothwell Bridge Welch was one of the 
pastors who strove to unite the disordered 
Covenanter? . From its bloody scenes he 
escaped by wonderful endurance. He was 
sometimes three days on horseback without 
sleep. He crossed the border, and fled for- 
ever from his native land. 

Donald Cargill and Richard Cameron 
were types of the sternest and fiercest of 
the Scottish thinkers. Welch might have 
yielded some points of doctrine, some traits 
of discipline, could he have hoped to win 
peace for his suffering people.^ He could 
forgive the timid Presbyterian who consent- 
ed to accept the indulgence offered by the 
bishops, or who was not willing to resist till 
death, in want, exile, or painful seclusion, 
the tyranny of a hostile government. But 
to Cameron or Cargill the slightest submis- 
sion was a proof of a fallen nature or a 
craven heart. Stern and remorseless against 
the time-serving offender, they held as more 
guilty even than the persecuting priest the 
follower of the Covenant who wavered in 
his faith, who shrank from maintaining its 
most minute doctrinal distinctions, or who, 
having once possessed the truth, had lapsed 
into Erastian negligence and submission. 
Wild, strange, and terrible were the lives 
led by these unrivaled heroes as they crept 
from cover to cover amidst the hills of Scot- 
land, crying out against the backslider and 
the prelatist, and welcomed by countless 
throngs of devoted followers. Only a scries 
of the most wonderful escapes from their 
pursuers, which might well seem the inter- 
ventions of approving Heaven, saved them 

for many years from the hand of the execu- 
tioner. Cargill, worn by terrible emotion 
and constant labors, once found that his 
voice was gone, and it was probably the 
bitterest of his pains that he could no longer 
utter to the vast assemblies of his people 
his well-known and startling exhortations.^ 
But in a moment of inspiration his infirm- 
ity was healed. His voice returned, clearer 
and louder than before, and, with unpar- 
alelled spirit, he preached again to great 
multitudes. Often he passed through the 
midst of his enemies, as if guided by an in- 
visible hand. Once, when the pursuers en- 
tered his chamber, he was safely hidden be- 
hind a pile of books. The soldiers were 
about to remove them, when the faithful 
maid-servant cried out that they were tak- 
ing her master's books, and their commander 
ordered them to desist. At Bothwell he was 
seized, dangerously wounded, by the enemy, 
but they allowed him to* escape. Soon he 
was preaching again, baptizing and marry- 
ing in the wild scenes of Galloway and 
Nithsdale. A reward of several hundred 
pounds was set upon his head ; for it was 
known that he had invoked the judgment 
of Heaven on the king and the bishops, and 
stern Cameronians were fond of tracing in 
the sudden or shocking deaths of Charles 
II. and Monmouth, of Dalziel and Rothes, 
the fulfillment of Cargill's prophecies and 
maledictions. At last he was taken. He 
w^as hanged, defiant and triumj)hant, at the 
Cross of Edinburgh, a man whose life had 
been passed in ceaseless prayer and works 
of boundless charity. Richard Cameron, 
prophet, priest, and revolutionist, w^as Car- 
gill's companion when, in 1780, at Sanquhar, 
almost abandoned by the Scottish clergy, they 
denounced the Duke of York as antichrist 
or abjured all allegiance to the Stuarts. A 
fierce and energetic nature, a voice loud and 
terrible, a will that never bent to the fiercest 
strokes of fate, made Cameron the founder 
of a religious sect whose name is still pre- 
served ; nor did he ever spare in his male- 
dictions the race of his native kings, or hes- 
itate to foretell that the day was coming 
when they should be driven forever from 
the land they had filled with woe. Unhap- 
pily the brave preacher did not escape to 
witness the fulfillment of his prophecy. He 
whose malediction was a portent of death, 
whose prophetic glance rivaled the awful 
penetration of Daniel or Isaiah, was shot 
down on Aii-'s Moss, and his body thrown 
into a pit. Here came his friend Alexan- 
der Peden soon after, and kneeling down, 
with upturned eyes," exclaimed, "Oh, to bo 
W"i' Richie!" A simple head -stone marks 
Cameron's grave on Air's Moss ; but evcj. in 
Scottish history, amidst the tears and the 
exultation of generations, will rise up the 

1 Howie, Worthies, 396. 

1 Howie, Worthies, 369. 


touching spectacle of the bereaved Cove- 
nanter lamenting for his friend, and utter- 
ing his memorable cry. 

From tlio craggy cliifs of Arthur's Seat 
may be seen, far out in the Frith of Forth, 
a huge mountain of stone rising over the 
restless sea. It is called Bass Rock.^ Soli- 
tary, bare, and treeless, the waves beat use- 
lessly against Its firm foundations, and the 
sea-fowl cluster unharmed around its deso- 
late top. The rock was purchased by the 
crown from its private owner to be convert- 
ed into a i)rison for the Covenanters. The 
dungeons and the keep of its castle were 
mied with a sacred company of unbending 
spirits ; from the grated windows looked 
out a group of stern and earnest faces, gasp- 
ing for air, or shivering with perpetual 
cold. Sometimes the wan and haggard cap- 
tives were permitted to wander along its 
narrow ledge, gaze on the swelling ocean, 
catch the fair outline of their persecuted 
land, and miugle their prayers with the 
voices of the restless waves. Here the 
wintry winds, the rage of the arctic storms, 
famine, confinement, and noisome cells rack- 
ed the frames and broke the health of many 
of Scotland's noblest sons, but could never 
shake their resolution ; nor has earth a more 
memorable prison-house, or Scotland a more 
sacred scene, than this barren rock, where 
Peden, Gillespie, and Blackadder found an 
involuntary Patmos. John Blackadder was 
one of the most eminent of the rigid Cove- 
nanters. He was descended from a race of 
scholars, and for many happy years had 
preached the pure faith of the Covenant 
with singular success in the parish of Tro- 
queer. His church stood on a gentle emi- 
nence upon the banks of the Nith ; a fair 
landscape opened around it; his garden 
and his manse, his wife, his young family, 
his faithful parishioners, employed his act- 
ive hours ; but when the moment came for 
deciding between the claims of conscience 
and tlie demands of kings and bishops, the 
mild and gentle pastor, transformed into a 
hero, defied the overwhelming x)ower of his 
foes. He was among the first to preach 
against prelacy.' He was arrested, reletised, 
and at length driven from Troqueer. On a 
misty Sabbath, the last in October, Avhen 
the parish bells were sounding cheerfully 
from village to village, his peoi)le gathered 
at an early hour to bid him farewell : his 
last sermon was broken by the sudden in- 
road of the soldiery, and he removed to a 
lonely j)arish in Glencairn. Here ho was 
never allowed to rest. His son, then ten 
years old, relates one of the common inci- 
dents in the life of a Presbyterian clergy- 
man of the time. A part}' of soldiers at 

' Scott, Prov. Ant., ii. 296, has a pood view of Bass 
Rock. See Baps Hock, by Hugh Miller and others. 
2 Howie, Worthies, 499. 

Vol.. XLVI.— No. 2T1.— 8 


night broke into the minister's poor cottage, 
but, happily, he had gone to Edinburgh ; 
they ordered the boy, with oaths and threats, 
to light a candle and lead them through the 
house in search of his father ; they ran their 
swords through the beds where his sisters 
slept, threw the books from the shelves of 
the library, and devoured the contents of 
the scanty larder. Cold and shivering, for 
he had only his night dress, the poor child 
resolved to make his escape. He pretended 
to be i)laying in the yard, passed the sen- 
tries who stood at the door with drawn 
swords, and ran through the dark night to 
a neighboring village. He was half naked 
and frozen; but all the town Avas asleep, 
and no door was open to receive hiui. He 
crept to the town cross, climbed to the 
upper step, and 8lei)t there till morning. 
Between five and six o'clock a door opened, 
and an old woman came out. She saw a 
white object on the cross, and coming near, 
discovered that it was a little boy. "Jesus 
save us !" she cried ; " what art thou ?" The 
child awoke from his frozen sleep, and told 
her that he was Mr. Blackadder's son, and 
that a band of fearful men, in red coats, had 
burned his father's house and all the family. 
"Oh, puir thing!" she exclaimed; "come iu 
and lie down in my warm bed." "Which 
I did," adds the narrator, "and it was the 
sweetest bed I ever met with."^ 

Many weary years of persecution and of 
ceaseless toils passed over the wandering 
pastor, during which he held armed conven- 
ticles amidst the moors, preached to joyous 
throngs in distant solitudes, or hid in secret 
places, while his jmrsuers sought him with 
untiring malice. His health, always feebje, 
often forced him to seek rest in Ilolhmd, or 
to hide in close rooms at Edinburgh. In his 
last public service he stood on a hill in East 
Lothian, looking out on Bass Kock, and there 
X)rayed fervently for jts unhappy prisoners. 
Soon after he was apprehended, and sen- 
tenced to join the company of martyrs for 
whom he prayed. He was carried to Bass 
Rock, and for four years endured the pains 
and horrors of its inclement dungeons ; was 
chilled by its tierce Aviuds, or half stifled in its 
noisome gloom. Yet never Avould his lofty 
spirit descend to purchase release by consent- 
ing to the tyranny of the bishops, and with 
his dying breath he proclaimed that religious 
and civil liberty was a birthright of which 
no persecutor could rob him. He died in 
his seventieth year, the victim of ])riests 
and kings. Nor of all the famous sccn(;s of 
Scotland — and it lias many — of all its sacred 
spots, hallowed by deeds of enthusiasm, self- 
devotion, or romance, is there one to which 
the freemen of every land will turn with 
more deep and reven-nt interest than the 
huge rock that breaks the waves of the 

» Howie, Worthies, 502. 



Frith of Forth, surrounded by the shrieking 
sea- fowl and the fickle mist, yet ever radiant 
Avith the memories of its countless martyrs, j 
and speakin<>- to all ages its heroic lesson of 
endurance till death in the cause of human ' 

Not less renowned among the heroes of 
the Covenant are John Brown, the Ayrshire 
carrier, and his wife, Isabel Weir. He who 
wandered among the rocky districts of Ayr- 
shire two hundred years ago would have seen 
seated amidst its highest fells, looking from 
the brow of a hill upon a wide tract of moss 
and moor, a cottage renowned as the home 
of one of the purest and mildest of the vic- 
tims of Claverhouse.^ The rude farm was 
known as Priesthill. Its house was of stone, 
covered with heather : vet from its modest 

7 o 

hospitality no stranger was repelled, and the 
honest virtue of John Brown had made Priest- 
hill famous as the home of piety and bound- 
less good-will. He had been designed for a 
clergyman, but was prevented from preach- 
ing by a defect in his voice. Grave, calm, 
moderate, forbearing, the father ruled over 
his rising family ; bright, cheerful, hopeful, 
liumorous, his wife, Isabel, softened the aus- 
terity of the Covenanter's home. She was 
his second wife. He had met her in his 
wanderings over his native hills, when they 
had conversed together over the sorrows of 
the church, and at length their wedding was 
celebrated in a solitary glen, amidst an un- 
expected throng of Covenanters. Alexander 
Peden, prophet and iiriest, heard their vows 
beneath the open sky, and uttered to Isabel, 
w^hen he had joined them forever, one of 
his singular forebodings of coming woe. 
"When you least expect it," he said, "your 
husband will be taken from you and Isabel 
heard him without alarm. Several years 
passed on; peace and perjietual joy rested 
upon their modest home. When persecu- 
tion raged over the lonely district, John 
Brown was often obliged to hide in the cold 
uplands or fly to a friendly cave.'' One 
day, driven from his home, he wandered to 
one of those singular si^ots, so often the 
only refuge of the hapless Covenanters, to 
pass the hours in prayer. A torrent or a 
water-spout had formed a deep ravine, a 
frightful chasm, in the moor, down whose 
steep and rocky sides, hidden in bracken, 
only the most experienced climber could 
make his way. At its base, on each side of 
the immense rift, were a number of caves 
and dens, capable of holding a large congre- 
gation. John Brown had made his way into 
one of them, thinking himself alone, when 
a low, sweet sound struck his ear. It was 
a voice chanting a psalm in a subdued tone, 
as if the singer was afraid to attract atten- 
tion even in that awful solitude. lint grad- 
ually it rose louder and more joyful, the 

chasm echoed with the song of praise, and 
John Brown discovered that three of his 
j friends had fled, like himself, to the wilder- 
ness to commune with God. They were 
1 living in a cave beneath a jutting rock ; yet 
the peace of Heaven descended upon them. 
They were drinking from the river of life. 
They passed the night together in inexpress- 
ible bliss, until the lark rose above their 
heads in the morning, when they parted, 
thinking never to meet again. Climbing 
up the sides of the rocky chasm, -they gazed 
around to see if an enemy were near. They 
sang again, when, to their surprise, a voice 
sweeter than any thing they had ever heard 
before seemed to resound through the brack- 
en-covered cleft, cheering them with golden 
pictures of celestial bliss. ^ They never dis- 
covered whence it came ; hut when his com- 
panions looked upon John Brown's grave 
face, they saw that it was lighted with the 
sweet expression of an angel. 

Soon after, Claverhouse, who had heard 
the fame of John Brown's piety, came to 
Priesthill resolved to kill him.^ Isabel saw 
the company of horsemen riding over the 
hill, and knew that the hour had come 
which Alexander Pederi had foretold at their 
wedding in the glen. Her husband was 
seized on the moor, where he was cutting 
peat, and was brought back to the house. 
Three companies of dragoons stood around 
John and Isabel and their trembling chil- 
dren. " Will you pray for King James ?" 
exclaimed Claverhouse to the Covenanter. 
"Not until he turns from his wicked ways," 
said the victim. " Then go to your prayers, 
for vou must die !" cried Claverhouse ; and 
kneeling before his peaceful home, John 
Brown ^irayed for his wife, his children, and 
the church of God. Claverhouse interrupt- 
ed him with imprecations. " Isabel," said 
John, "the hour is come I told you of at our 
wedding. Are you willing to part from 
me?" "Heartily willing," she answered, 
" if it must be." " Then," said he, " this is 
all I wait for." He kissed his wife and chil- 
dren tenderly. " Fire !" cried Claverhouse 
to his dragoons. They stood motionless, ap- 
palled. He drew a pistol from his own belt 
and shot his captive through the head. 
While the fierce soldiers turned away in hor- 
ror, Claverhouse, in an excess of wicked- 
ness, taunted with bitter words the weep- 
ing Isabel, who had gathered John Brown's 
shattered head in her arms. " What think- 
est thou of thy husband now, woman ?" he 
exclaimed. " I ever thought niickle of him," 
she said, " and now more than ever." " It 
were justice to lay thee at his side," replied 
he. " Thou art cruel enough to do it," she 
said ; " but how wilt thou answer for this 
morning's work ?" With fierce words but a 
pallid countenance, he put spurs to his Jiorso 

1 Howie, Worthies, John Brown. 


1 Howie, i. 451. 

= Wodrow, iv. 244. 



and gallojoed away ;^ and Isabel, -with lier 
children, drew a plaid reverently over her 
husband's body, and wept kneeling at his 
side. Yet the peace of God came to the 
stricken family ; tender friends gathered 
around them ; and from the solemn moor 
and the poor Covenanter's home is uttered a 
perpetual cry against priestly tyranny and 
spiritual pride. 

The last, perhajis the most interesting, of 
the victims of the prelacy was JameS'Ren- 
wick, a young and gifted preacher.^ Sickly, 
frail, a scholar, almost a poet, he had given 
himself to the labors and dangers of a wan- 
dering life, preaching the Covenant among 
his native hills; nor could cold, want, fa- 
tigue, or failing health disturb the bright 
visions of a heavenly world that seemed to 
lloat around him like a shield against every 
sensual pain. It was the second year after 
John Brown's marriage to Isabel. The gudc- 
man was awav. Isabel was carding and 
spinning wool with her shepherdvS. The qui- 
et house was suddenly aroused at night by 
the entrance of a stranger. He was young, 
small; his countenance fair, but pale with 
hunger and sickness. His shoes Avere worn 
out, but though he wore a shepherd's plaid, he 
was evidently of some higher profession. A 
little girl, John Brown's daughter Janet, took 
off his wet plaid and placed him in the warm- 
est corner. The stranger burst into tears, 
and invoked for her the blessing of Heaven. 
John Brown now came in and approached 
the poor wanderer with reverence, for he 
was James Renwick. All the family strove 
to soothe his suffering frame ; the lassies left 
their wheels to wash his feet ; the gude-wife 
jirepared him a warm supper ; and little Ja- 
net, who had been the first to welcome him, 
fell fast asleep at his side. Yet James Ren- 
wick had no words of regret for the dark 
past or the sterner future. " Our enemies 
are glad," he said, "that we are driven to 
wander in mosses or on mountains ; but 
even amidst the storms of thelast two nij>;hts, 
I can not express what sweet times I have 
had when I had no covering but the dark 
curtains of the night. Yes, in the silent 
watch my mind was led out to admire the 
deep and inexpressible ocean of joy wherein 
the whole family of heaven swim.^ Each 
star led me to wonder wliat he must be who 
is the Star of Jacob, of whom all stars bor- 
row their shining." 

In the calm hosi^itality of Priesthill the 
young enthusiast passed a few happy days, 
and then went forth, amidst toil and j)ain, 
to keep alive the vital spark of a true faith 
among his countrymen. It was in the last 

1 Wodrow, ii. 245. Claverhonsc is said never to have 
forgotten the i)rayers of John P.rown. 

2 Howie, James Renwick. Wodrow, iv. 445. 

3 Howie, Worthies, 448. Howie's Testimonies may 
he consulted by those who would see how cheerfully j 
the heroes of the Covenant died. 

years of the great persecution. A majority 
of the Scottish clergy had yielded to the 
professions of England's papist king, and 
had accepted the indulgence he offered ; but 
to James Renwick no compliance was possi- 
ble, and he inveighed sternly and boldly 
against all who consented to touch the fatal 
gift of toleration.^ His health was failing, 
his life ebbing away. He could scarcely sit 
upon his horse as he rode from glen to glen, 
from shire to shire, preaching to the faithful 
people the joys of a sublime truthfulness. 
His enemies pursued the young, frail preach- 
er with unexampled malice. Fifteen times 
within five months diligent efforts were 
made for his arrest. A heavy reward was 
offered for his head. He escaped by a scries 
of wonderful accidents that may well de- 
serve a more pious name ; was now among 
the wildest hills of Fife, or now at Edin- 
burgh thrust a last protest against tolera- 
tion into the unwilling hands of the " mod- 
erate" clergy. A few months more and ho 
might have seen the Church of Scotland set 
free from its persecutors, and heard the 
shouts of joy that welcomed the yellow flag 
of Orange and the triumph of the tolerant 
Presbyterian William. But in February, 
1688, he was seized at Edinburgh, was strick- 
en down by a brutal blow as he tried to es- 
cape, and was laid in irons in the jail. 
"What!" said the captain of the guard, 
when he saw his feeble captive, "is this the 
boy Renwick that the nation has been so 
troubled with ?" He was condemned to 
death, but the glory of the iueflfabhs bliss 
above hung around him, and when he was 
offered his life if he would sign a petition, 
he declared that no earthly gains could win 
him from the truth. From his mother and 
his sisters, who were allowed to see him, he 
parted with words of triumph. Even on 
the scaffold he declined the offer of pardon. 
An immense throng of spectators gathered 
around, and amidst the clash of drums and 
the clamor of his enemies he was lieard ex- 
claiming, "Dear friends, I die a Presbyte- 
rian Protestant." So fair and j)ure a vic- 
tim has seldom fallen before the malice of 
spiritual tyranny. He was just twenty-six 
years old. His complexion was ruddy and 
fair, his countenance of angelic sweetness. 
All the virtues that dignify human nature 
— generosity, purity, meekness, courtesy — 
adorned this remarkable young man. His el- 
oquence was long celebrated among his 
countrymen. Immense throngs gathered at 
his fiel(l-i»reaching to catch the fervor of 
his zeal. No one could paint so clearly the 
splendors of innnortal bliss, or lift his trem- 
bling audiences to such perfect c(unmunion 
with the family of heaven. James Renwick 

1 Dean Stanley thinks the Church of Scotland was 
marked by its "negations," p. CG, 67 r l>iit all its pro- 
I tests were aimed against what was uiiscriptural. It 
I affirmed only the Bible. 



•was the last of tlie Coveuantcrs -who died 
upon the scaffokl, and the tears and trials 
of Scotland ended with the sacrifice of one 
of her pnrest sons. 

More i)o^ent than the fahled spells of en- 
chantment or the boldest visions of a poetic 
fancy, more wonderful than the achieve- 
ments of epic heroes, of Tancred, ^ueas, or 
Achilles, are often the vigorous operations 
of common-sense.* And no sooner had the 
calm and resolute William of Orange left his 
native fens, to carry reason and moderation 
to the counsels of the English court, than 
a sudden calm descended upon the blood- 
stained hills and glens of Scotland. The 
sorrows of the Scottish Church were over ; 
the Cameroniau might come boldly from his 
cave ; the prisoners poured out of Bass Rock ; 
toleration reigned where once had been heard 
only the fierce cry of the persecutor and his 
victim ; and beneath the yellow flag of 
Orange and Nassau, Europe and America 
began a new career of swift advance. The 
enchanter, William, had tamed by a sudden 
spell the rage of persecution, and never again 
in any Protestant land were the cruelties of 
Dominic and Loyola to be emulated or re- 
vived. In France the ceaseless malice of 
the Romish Church still pursued the pious 
Huguenots to their deserts ; in Italy the 
Vaudois were still tormented amidst their 
beautiful valleys ; Spain and Portugal still 
celebrated, though at rarer intervals, the 
fearful sacrifices of the Inquisition ; but 
the humane principles of W^illiam and of 
his native Holland ruled over Germany and 
the British Isles, were enlarged and expand- 
ed in America, and laid the firm foundations 
of modern freedom. No nation profited more 
largely from the revolution of 1688 than the 
land which had suftered most deeply from 
the Romish instincts of the Stuart kings. A 
pure and rational faith spread over Scotland. 
Its brown moors and bracken-covered glens, 
its lowlands bright with broom and fragrant 
with the milk-white thorn, resounded with 
the cheerful voices of prosperity and peace. 
Its intellect, which had been tested amidst 
the bitterest pains of persecution, grew sud- 
denly into unlooked-for vigor; the same 
profound enthusiasm which had marked its 
wandering preachers in their caves and their 
conventicles was exhibited by its men of 
letters ; its schools of metaphysics, history, 
poetry, and fiction have led the advance of 
modern thought, and the splendors of its 
literary career have covered its narrow 
realm with an immortal renown. But the 
most direct, the most important, result of 
the sorrows and the heroism of the martyrs 
of the Covenant is the almost unexampled 
growth of an evangelical church, which in 

* Wodrow, iv. 463, celebrates William Prince of 
Orange as the deliverer of his country, *' that glorious 
deliverer of those lands from i)opcry and slavery." 
The Covenanters were not ungrateful. 

its native land has preserved the pure faith 
of Hamilton, Knox, and Renwick, and which 
in our own has spread from the Atlantic to 
the Pacific, always the friend of freedom, of 
education, and of mental and moral prog- 
ress. And as the various religious sects in 
the New World, forgetting their ancient 
rivalry in the Old, blend day by day in one 
common bond of sympathy and spiritual 
union, it will bo seen that the martyrs and 
saiut» of Scotland and its church sutfered 
not for any one Christian body, but for the 
liberties and the welfare of all ; that they 
perished nobly in the cause of ever-living 

Nor will the historian of the future, who, 
writing from some central home of freedom 
in the valleys of the Nevada or on the banks 
of the Columbia, reviews and coiTCcts the 
errors of the medieval story, forget, like 
Hume or Robertson or Scott, to celebrate the 
true historical characters of Scotland. He 
may pass with contempt the false men and 
shameless women who, robed in the trap- 
pings of kings, queens, and nobles, have 
formed the chief personages of the common 
narrative ; he will scarcely linger over the 
fate of the unhappy Mary, or lament her nec- 
essary woes ; he will neglect the long line of 
barbarous kings and cruel priests to dwell 
upon the rigid virtue and the generous sac- 
rifices of the martyrs of the Covenant. 
Priesthill, seated on its lonely fells, with its 
ever-open Bible and its gentle inmates, will 
have for him a higher charm than Holyrood 
or Melrose Abbey; the caves and glens where 
honesty and virtue flourished in the days of 
persecution will seem the true sources of 
Scottish progress ; and the stern and hag- 
gard Cameronian, giving forth his testimony 
in death against the faintest deviation from 
the path of strict integrity — a Cargill, a 
Peden, or a Renwick — will be found to have 
exercised no unimportant influence upon the 
free institutions of Oregon or of Montana. 


In the quiet garden of my life 

There groweth a red-rose tree; 
A little bird sits on the topmost bough. 

And merrily singeth be. 

The sun may shine in the happy sky 

Through the long and golden days, 
And the sweet spring blossoms veil the trees 

In a fragrant pearly haze; 

Or the pelting rains of autumn come, 

And the weaiy wintry weather, 
And we've naught to watch but the leaden clouds— 

My rose and I together. 

Come rain, come shine, so that bonny bird 

But warble his cheery tune ; 
For while he sings to my rose and me. 

To us it is always June. 

And Death and Sorrow shall vainly sit 

The portals of life beside. 
For we float upborne on that soaring song 

Through the gates of heaven flung wide! 







LADY Ji^ET'S curiosity was by tliis time 
thoroughly aroused. Summoued to ex- 
plain, who the nameless lady mentioned in 
his letter could possibly be, Julian had looked 
at her adopted daughter. Asked next to ex- 
plain what her adopted daughter had got to 
do with it, he had declared that he could 
not answer while Miss Roseberry was in the 

What did he mean? Lady Janet de- 
termined to tind out. 

" I hate all mysteries/' she said to Julian. 
"And as for secrets, I consider them to be 
one of the forms of ill-breeding. People in 
our rank of life ought to be above whisper- 
ing in corners. If you rnust have your mys- 
tery, I can otier you a corner in the library. 
Come with me." 

Julian followed his aunt very reluctantly. 
AVhatever the mystery might be, he was 
plainly embarrassed by being called upon to 
reveal it at a moment's notice. Lady Janet 
settled herself in her chair, prepared to 
question and cross - question her nephew, 
Avhen an obstacle appeared at the other end 
of the library, in the shape of a man-servant 
with a message. One of Lady Janet's neigh- 
bors had called by appointment to take her 
to the meeting of a certain committee which 
assembled that day. The servant announced 
that the neighbor — an elderly lady — was 
then waiting in her carriage at the door. 

Lady Janet's ready invention set the ob- 
stacle aside without a moment's delay. She 
directed the servant to show her visitor into 
the di'awing-room, and to say that she was 
unexpectedly engaged, but that Miss Rose- 
berry would see the lady immediately. She 
then turned to Julian, and said, with her 
most satirical emphasis of tone and manner, 
^• \Vould it be an additional convenience if 
Miss Roseberry was not only out of the room 
before you disclose your secret, but out of 
the house 

Julian gravely answered, " It may possi- 
bly be quite as well if Miss Roseberry is out 
of tlie house." 

Lady Janet led the way back to the din- 


"My dear Grace," she said, "you looked 
flushed and feverish wlien I saw you asleep 
on the sofa a little while since. It will do 
you no harm to have a drive in the fresh air. 
Our friend has calh'd to take me to the com- 
mittee meeting. I liave sent to tell her tliat 
I am engaged — and I shall be much obliged 
if you will go in my place." 

Mercv looked a little alarmed. "Does 

your ladyship mean the committee meeting 
of the Samaritan Convalescent Home ? The 
members, as I understand it, are to decide 
to-day which of the plans for the new build- 
ing they are to adopt. I can not surely pre- 
sume to vote in your i^lacc ?" 

"You can vote, my dear child, just as 
well as I can," replied the old lady. "Ar- 
chitecture is one of the lost arts. You know 
nothing about it; I know nothing about 
it ; the architects themselves know nothing 
about it. One plan is no doubt just as bad 
as the other. Vote, as I should vote, with 
the majority. Or as poor dear Dr. Johnson 
said, 'Shout with the loudest mob.' Away 
with you— and don't keep the committee 

Horace hastened to open the door for 

" How long shall you be away V he whis- 
liered, confidentially. " I had a thousand 
things to say to you, and they have inter- 
rupted us." 

" I shall be back in an hour." 

" We shall have the room to ourselves by 
that time. Come here when you return. 
You will find me waiting for you." 

Mercy pressed his hand significantly and 
Avent out. Lady Janet turned to Julian, 
who had thus far remained in the back- 
ground, still, to all appearance, as unwill- 
ing as ever to enlighten his aunt. 

"Well?" she said. "What is tying your 
tongue now ? Grace is out of the room ; 
why don't you begin ? Is Horace in the 
way ?" 

" Not in the least. I am only a little un- 
easy — " 

. " Uneasy about what ?" 

" I am afraid you have put that charming 
creature to some inconvenience in sending 
her away just at thi« time." 

Horace looked up suddenly, with a flush 
on his face. 

"When you say 'that charming creature, 
he asked, sharply, " 1 supi)Ose you mean Miss 
Roseberry ?" 

"Certainly," answered .jlllian. "Why 
not ?" 

Lady Janet interposed. " Gently, Julian," 
she said. "Grace has only been inlrodiiced 
to you hitherto in the character of my a(h)pt- 
ed daugliter — " 

"And it seems to lji/3 high time," Horace 
added, liaughtily, " tliat I should i)resent her 
next in the character of my engaged wife." 

Julian looked at Horace as if he could 
hardly credit the evidence of his own ears. 
"Your Avife!" he exclaimed, with an irre- 
pressible outburst of disappointment and 



" Yes. My wife," returned Horace. " We 
are to be married in a fortnight. May I 
aslc," lie added, Avitli angry humility, if 
you disapprove of th6 marriage?" 

Lady Janet interposed once more. " Non- 
Bense, Horace," she said. "Julian congrat- 
ulates you, of course." 

Julian coldly and absently echoed the 
words. Oh yes ! I congratulate you, of 

Lady Janet returned to the main object 
of the interview. 

" Now we thoroughly understand one an- 
other," she said, " let us speak of a lady who 
has dropped out of the conversation for the 
last minute or two. I mean, Julian, the 
mysterious lady of your letter. We are 
alone, as you desired. Lift the veil, my 
reverend nephew, which hides her from mor- 
tal eyes ! Blush, if you like — and can. Is 
she the future Mrs. Julian Gray ?" 

" She is a perfect stranger to me," Julian 
answered, quietly. 

" A perfect stranger ! You wrote me word 
you were interested in her." 

"I am interested in her. And, what is 
more, you are interested in her too." 

Lady Janet's fingers drummed impatient- 
ly on the table. " Have I not warned you, 
Julian, that I hate mysteries? Will you, 
or will you not, explain yourself ?" 

Before it was possible to answer, Horace 
rose from his chair. Perhaps I am in the 
way?" he said. 

Julian signed to him to sit down again. 

"I have already told Lady Janet that 
you are not in the way," he answered. " 1 
now tell you — as Miss Roseberry's future 
husband — that 5'ou too have an interest in 
hearing what I have to say." 

Horace resumed his seat with an air of 
suspicious surprise. Julian addressed him- 
self to Lady Janet. 

" You have often heard me speak," he be- 
gan, "of my old friend and school-fellow, 
John Cressingham ?" 

Yes. The English consul at Mann- 
heim ?" 

"The same. W^hen I returned from the 
country I found among my other letters a 
long letter from the consul. I have brought 
it with me, and I propose to read certain 
passages fronf it, which tell a very strange 
story more plainly and more credibly than 
I can tell it in my own words." 

"Will it be very long?" inquired Lady 
Janet, looking with some alarm at the close- 
ly written sheets of paper which her nephew 
spread open before him. 

Horace followed with a question on his 

"You are sure I am interested in it?" he 
asked. " The consul at Mannheim is a total 
stranger to me." 

" I answer for it," replied Julian, gravely, 
" neither my aunt's patience nor yours, Hor- 

ace, will be thrown away if you will favor 
me by listening attentively to what I am 
about to read." 

With those words he began his first ex- 
tract from the consul's letter : 

" 'My memory is a bad one for dates. 

But full three months must have x^assed since 
information was sent to me of an English 
patient, received at the hospital here, whose 
case I, as English consul, might feel an in- 
terest in investigating. 

" ' I went the same day to the hospital, 
and w^as taken to the bedside. 

" 'The patient was a w^oman — young, and 
(when in health), I should think, very pretty. 
When I first saw her she looked, to my unin- 
structed eye, like a dead woman. I noticed 
that her head had a bandage over it, and I 
asked what was the nature of the injury that 
she had received. The answer informed me 
that the poor creature had been present, no- 
body knew why or wherefore, at a skirmish 
or night attack between the Germans and 
the French, and that the injury to her head 
had been inflicted by a fragment of a Ger- 
man shell.' " 

Horace — thus far leaning back carelessly 
in his chair — suddenly raised himself and 
exclaimed, " Good heavens ! can this be the 
woman I saw laid out for dead in the French 
cottage ?" 

" It is impossible for me to say," rei^lied 
Julian. " Listen to the rest of it. The con- 
sul's letter may answer your question." 

He went on with his reading : 

" ' The wounded woman had been re];)orted 
dead, and had been left bv the French in 
their retreat, at the time wiien the German 
forces took possession of the enemy's posi- 
tion. She was found on a bed in a cottage 
by the director of the German ambulance — ' " 

" Ignatius Wetzel ?" cried Horace. 

" Ignatius Wetzel," relocated Julian, look- 
ing at the letter. 

"It is the same!" said Horace. "Lady 
Janet, we are really interested in this. You- 
remember my telling you how I first met 
with Grace ? And you have heard more 
about it since, no doubt, from Grace herself?" 

" She has a horror of referring to that part 
of her journey home," replied Lady Janet. 
" She mentioned her having been stopped on 
the frontier, and her finding herself acci- 
dentally in the company of another English- 
woman, a perfect stranger to her. I nat- 
urally asked questions on my side, and was 
shocked to hear that she had seen the woman 
killed by a German shell almost close at her 
side. Neither she nor I have had any relish 
for returning to the subject since. You were 
quite right, Julian, to avoid speaking of it 
while she was in the room. I understand it 
all now. Grace, I suppose, mentioned my 
name to her fellow-traveler. The woman is, 
no doubt, in want of assistance, and she ap- 
plies to me through you. I will help her; 



but she must not come here until I have 
prepared Grace for seeing her again, a living 
woman. For the present there is no reason 
Tvhy they should meet." 

" I am not sure about that," said Julian, 
in low tones, without looking up at his aunt. 

" What do you mean ? Is the mystery 
no^ at an end yet ?" 

" The mystery has not even begun yet. 
Let my friend the consul proceed." 

Julian returned for the second time to his 
extract from the letter : 

" 'After a careful examination of the sup- 
posed corpse, the German surgeon arrived 
at the conclusion that a case of suspended 
animation had (in the hurry of the French 
retreat) been mistaken for a case of death. 
Feeling a professional interest in the sub- 
ject, he decided on putting his opinion to 
the test. He operated on the patient with 
complete success. After performing the oper- 
ation he kept her for some days under his 
own care, and then transferred her to the 
nearest hospital — the hospital at Mannheim. 
He was obliged to return to his duties as 
army surgeon, and he left his patient in the 
condition in which I saw her, insensible on 
the bed. Neither ho nor the hospital au- 
thorities knew any thing whatever about 
the woman. No papers Avere found on her. 
All the doctors could do, when I asked them 
for information with a view to communica- 
ting with her friends, was to show me her 
linen marked with her name. I left the hos- 
pital after taking down the name in my 
pocket-book. It was " Mercy Merrick." ' " 

Lady Janet produced her pocket-book. 
" Let me take the name down too," she said. 

I never heard it before, and I might other- 
wise forget it. Go on, Julian." 

Julian advanced to his second extract 
from the consul's letter : 

" ' Under these circumstances, I could 
only wait to hear from the hosi)ital when 
the i)atient was sufficiently recovered to be 
able to speak to me. Some weeks passed 
without my receiving any communication 
from the doctors. On calling to mak^ in- 
(pairies I was informed that fever had set in, 
and that the poor creature's condition now 
alternated between exhaustion and delirium. 
In her delirious moments the name of your 
aunt, Lady Janet Roy, frequently escaped 
her. Otherwise her wanderings were for 
the most part quite unintelligible to the peo- 
ple at her bedside. I thought once or twice 
of writing to you, and of begging you to 
speak to Lady Janet. But as the doctors 
informed me that the chances of life or death 
were at this time almost equally balanced, 
I decided to wait until time should deter- 
mine whether it was necessary to trouble 
you or not.' " 

" You know best, Julian," said Lady Jan- 
et. " But I own I don't quite see in what 
way I am interested in this jiart of the story." 

"Just what I was going to say," added 
Horace. "It is very sad, no doubt. But 
what have we to do with it ?" 

"Let me read my third extract," Julian 
answered, " and you will see." 

He turned to the third extract, and read 
as follows : 

" ' At last I received a message from the 
hospital informing me that Mercy Merrick 
Avas out of danger, and that she was capable 
(though still very weak) of answering any 
questions which I might think it desirable 
to put to her. On reaching the hospital I 
was requested, rather to my surprise, to pay 
my first visit to the head physician in his 
private room. " I think it right," said this 
gentleman, " to warn you, before you see the 
patient, to be very careful how you speak to 
her, and not to irritate her by showing any 
surprise or expressing any doubts if she 
talks to you in an extravagant manner. We 
dilfer in opinion about her here. Some of 
us (myself among the number) doubt wheth- 
er the recovery of her mind has accbmpauied 
the recovery of her bodily powers. Without 
pronouncing her to be mad — she is perfectly 
gentle and harmless — we are nevertheless 
of opinion that she is suffering under a spe- 
cies of insane delusion. Bear in mind the 
caution which I have given you — and now 
go and judge for yourself." I obeyed, in 
some little perplexity and surprise. The 
sufferer, when I approached her bed, looked 
sadly weak and worn ; but, so far as I could 
judge, seemed to be in full possession of her- 
self. Her tone and manner were unques- 
tionably the tone and manner of a lady. 
After briefly introducing myself, I assured 
her that I should be glad, both officially and 
personally, if I could be of any assistance to 
her. In saying these trifling words I hap- 
pened to address her by the name I had seen 
marked on her clothes. The instant the 
v/ords " Miss Merrick" passed my lips a wild, 
vindictive expression appeared in her eyes. 
She exclaimed, angrily, "Don't call me by 
that hateful name I It's not my name. All 
the people here x)ersecute me by calling me 
Mercy Merrick. And when I am angry with 
them they show me the clothes. Say what 
I may, they persist in believing they are my 
clothes. Don't you do the same, if you want 
to be friends with me." Remembering what 
the physician had said to me, I made the 
necessary excuses, and succeeded in soothing 
her. Without reverting to the irritating 
topic of the name, I merely iiujuinMl what 
her plans were, and assured her that slio 
might connnand my services if slie rc(iuir(!d 
them. " Why do you want to know what 
my plans are?" she asked, Knsi)ici()usly. I 
reminded her in reply tJiat I hchl the ])()si- 
tion of English consul, and that my object 
was, if possible, to be of some assistance to 
her. " You can bo of the greatest assistance 
to me," she said, eagerly. "Find Mercy 



Merrick I" I saw the vindictive look come 
back into her eyes, and an angry flush rising 
on her white cheeks. Abstaining from 
showing any surprise, I asked her who Mer- 
cy Merrick was. A vile woman, by her 
own confession," was the quick reply. ''How 
am I to lind her ?" I inquired next. " Look 
for a woman in a black dress, with the Red 
Geneva Cross on her shoulder ; she is a nurse 
in the French ambulance." '' What has she 
done ?" " I have lost my papers ; I have lost 
my own clothes ; Mercy Merrick has taken 
them." "How do you know that Mercy 
Merrick has taken them ?" " Nobody else 
could have taken them — that's how I know 
it. Do you believe me or not ?" She was 
beginning to excite herself again ; I assured 
her that I would at once send to make in- 
quiries after Mercy Merrick. She turned 
round contented on the pillow. "There's a 
good man !" she said. " Come back and tell 
me when vou have caught her." Such was 
my first interview with the English patient 
at the ho'spital at Mannheim. It is needless 
to say that I doubted the existence of the 
absent person described as a nurse. How- 
ever, it was possible to make inquiries by 
applying to the surgeon, Ignatius Wetzel, I 
whose whereabouts was known to his friends 
in Mannheim. I wrote to him, and received 
his answer in due time. After the night at- 
tack of the Germans had made them masters 
of the French position, he had entered the 
cottage occupied by the French ambulance 
He had found the wounded Frenchmen left 
behind, but had seen no such person in at- 
tendance on them as the nurse in the black 
dress with the red cross on her shoulder. 
The only living woman in the place was a 
young English lady, in a gray traveling 
cloak, who had been stopped on the frontier, 
and who was forwarded on her way home 
by the war correspondent of an English 
journal.' " 

" That was Grace," said Lady Janet. 

" And I was the war correspondent," add- 
ed Horace. 

"A few words more," said Julian, "andj 
you will understand my object in claiming 
your attention." 

He returned to the letter for the last time, 
and concluded his extracts from it as fol- 
lows : 

" ' Instead of attending at the hospital 
myself, I communicated by letter the failure 
of my attempt to discover the missing nurse. 
For some little time afterward I heard no 
more of the sick woman, whom I shall still 
call Mercy Merrick. It was only yesterday 
that I received another summons to visit 
the patient. She had by this time suffi- 
ciently recovered to claim her discharge, 
and she had announced her intention of re- 
turning forthwith to Englaiul. The head 
X)hysician, feeling a sense of responsibility, 
had sent for me. It was impossible to de- 

tain her on the ground that she was not fit 
to be trusted by herself at large, in conse- 
quence of the difference of opinion among 
the doctors on the case. All that could bo 
done was to give me due notice, and to leave 
the matter in my hands. On seeing her for 
the second time, I found her sullen and re- 
served. She openly attributed my inability 
to find the nurse to want of zeal for her in- 
terests on my part. I had, on my side, no 
authority whatever to detain her. I could 
only inquire whether she had money enough 
to pay her traveling expenses. Her reply 
informed me that the chaplain of the hos- 
pital had mentioned her forlorn situation in 
the town, and that the English residents 
had subscribed a small sum of money to en- 
able her to return to her own country. Sat- 
isfied on this head, I asked next if she had 
friends to go to in England. ''• 1 have one 
friend," she answered, " who is a host in 
herself — Lady Janet Roj-," You may im- 
agine my surprise when I heard this. I 
found it quite useless to make any further 
inquiries as to how she came to know your 
aunt, whether your aunt expected her, and 
so on. My questions evidently offended her ; 
they were received in sulky silence. Under 
these circumstances, well knowing that I can 
trust implicitly to your humane sympathy 
for misfortune, I have decided (after careful 
reflection) to insure the poor creature's safe- 
ty when she arrives in London by giving 
her a letter to you. You will hear what she 
says, and you will be better able to discover 
than I am whether she really has any claim 
on Lady Janet Roy. One last word of in- 
formation, which it may be necessary to 
add, and I shall close this inordinately long 
letter. At my first interview with her I 
abstained, as I have ah'eady told you, from 
irritating her by any inquiries on the sub- 
ject of her name. On this second occasion, 
however, I decided on putting the ques- 
tion.' " 

As he read those last words, Julian became 
aware of a sudden movement on the part of 
hi^aunt. Lady Janet had risen softly from 
her chair and had passed behind him with 
the purpose of reading the consul's letter for 
herself over her nephew's shoulder. Julian 
detected the action just in time to frustrate 
Lady Janet's intention by placing his hand 
over the last two lines of the letter. 

" What do you do that for f inquired his 
aunt, sharply. 

" You are welcome. Lady Janet, to read 
the close of the letter for yourself," Julian 
replied. " But before you do so I am anx- 
ious to prepare you for a very great surprise. 
Compose yourself, and let me read on slowly, 
with your eye on me, until I uncover the last 
two words which close my friend's letter." 

He read the end of the letter, as he had 
proposed, in these terms : 

" ' 1 looked the woman straight in the face, 


and I said to her, " You have denied that the 
name marked on the clothes which you wore 
when you came here was your name. If you 
are not Mercy Merrick, who are you ?" She 
answered, instantly, "My name is — " ' ' 

Julian removed his hand from the page. 
Lady Janet looked at the next two words, 
and started hack with a loud cry of aston- 
ishment, which hrought Horace instantly to 
his feet. 

Tell me, one of you !" he cried. " What 
name did she give ?" 
Julian told him : 
" Gkace Koseberry." 



For a moment Horace stood thunder- 
struck, looking in hlank astonishment at 
Lady Janet. His first words, as soon as he 
had recovered himself, were addressed to 

" Is this a joke f ' he asked, sternly. " If 
it is, I for one don't see the humor of it." 

Julian pointed to the closely written pages 
of the consul's letter. " A man writes in 
earnest," he said, " when he writes at such 
length as this. The woman seriously gave 
the name of Grace Roseberry, and when she 
left Mannheim she traveled to England for 
the express i)urpose of presenting herself to 
Lady Janet Roy." He turned to his aunt. 
" You saw me start," he went on, " when you 
first mentioned Miss Roseherry's name in my 
hearing. Now you know why." He Jid- 
dressed himself once more to Horace. " You 
heard me say that you, as Miss Roseherry's 
future husband, had an interest in being 
present at my interview with Lady Janet. 
Now 1J0U know Avhy." 

"The woman is plainly mad," said Lady 
Janet. " But it is certainly a startling form 
of madness when one first hears of it. Of 
course we must keep the matter, for the 
l^resent at least, a secret from Grace." 

" There can be no doubt," Horace agreed, 
" that Grace must be kept in the dark, in 
her present state of health. The servants 
had better be warned beforehand, in case of 
this adventuress or madwoman, whichever 
she may be, attemx^ting to make her way 
into the house." 

" It shall be done immediately," said Lady 
Janet. "What surprises me, Julian (ring 
the bell, if you please), is, that you should 
describe yourself in your letter as feeling an 
interest in this person." 

Julian answered — witlioutringingtliebell. 

" I am more interested than ever," he said, 
"now I find that Miss Roseberry herself is 
your guest at Mablethorpe House." 

"You were always perverse, Julian, as a 
child; in your likings and dislikiugs," Lady 


Janet rejoined. '^Why don't you ring the 
bell ?" 

"For one good reason, my dear aunt. I 
don't wish to hear you tell your servants to 
close the door on this friendless creature." 

Lady Janet cast a look at her nephew 
which plainly expressed that she thought 
he had taken a liberty with her. 

" You don't expect me to see the woman ?" 
she asked, in a tone of cold surprise. 

" I hope you Avill not refuse to see her," 
Julian answered, quietly. " I was out when 
she called. I must hear what she has to 
say — and I should infinitely prefer hearing 
it in your presence. When I got your re- 
ply to my letter, jiermitting me to present 
her to you. I wrote to her immediately, ap- 
pointing a meeting here." 

Lady Janet lifted her bright black eyes in 
mute expostulation to the carved Cupids and 
wreaths on the dining-room ceiling. 

" When am I to have the honor of the 
lady's visit f ' she inquired, with ironical 

"To-day," answered her nephew, with 
impenetrable patience. 

"At what hour?" 

Julian composedly consulted his watcli. 
" She is ten minutes after her time," ho said, 
and put his watch back in his pocket again. 

At the same moment the servant appeared, 
and advanced to Julian, carrying a visiting- 
card on his little silver tray. 

" A lady to see you, Sir." 

Julian took the card, and, bowing, handed 
it to his aunt. 

" Here she is," he said, just as quietly as 

Lady Janet looked at the card, and tossed 
it indignantly back to her nephew. " Miss 
Roseberry!" she exclaimed. "Printed — act- 
ually printed on her card ! Julian, even my 
X)atience has its limits. I refuse to see her !" 

The servant was still Avaiting — not like 
a human being who took an ijiterest in tlie 
I)roceedings, but (as became a y)erfectly bred 
footman) like an article of furniture art- 
fully constructed to come and go at the 
word of command. Julian gave tlie word 
of command, addressing the admirably con- 
structed automaton by the name of" .James." 

"Where is the ladj^ now ?" he asked. 

" In the breakfast-room. Sir." 

" Leave her there, if you i)lease, and wait 
outside within hearing of the bell." 

The legs of the furniture-footman acted, 
and took liim noiselesslv out of the room. 
Julian turned to his aunt. 

"Forgive me," he said, " for venturing to 
give the man his orders in your presence. I 
am very anxious that you should not decide 
hastily. Surely we ought to hear what this 
lady has to say ?" 

Horace dissented widrly from his friend's 
opinion. " It's an insult to Grace," he l)rokc 
out, warml}^, " to hear what she has to say I" 



Lady Jauet nodded her head iu hi<;h ap- 
proval. I think so too," said her hulyship, 
crossing her handsome ohl hands resolutely 
on her lap. 

Julian applied himself to answering Hor- 
ace first. 

" Pardon me," he said. " I have no inten- 
tion of presuming to reflect on Miss Rose- 
berry, or of bringing her into the matter at 
all. — The consul's letter," he went on, speak- 
ing to his aunt, "mentions, if you remem- 
ber, that the medical authorities of Mann- 
heim were divided in opinion on their pa- 
tient's case. Some of them — the physician- 
in-chief being among the number — believe 
that the recovery of her mind has not ac- 
companied the recovery of her body." 

''In other words," Lady Janet remarked, 
" a madwoman is in my house, and I am ex- 
pected to receive her!" 

"Don't let ns exaggerate," said Julian, 
gently. "It can serve no good interest, in 
this serious matter, to exaggerate any thing. 
The consul assures ns, on the authority of 
the doctor, that she is perfectly gentle and 
harmless. If she is really the victim of a 
mental delusion, the poor creature is surely 
an object of compassion, and she ought to 
be placed under projier care. Ask your own 
kind heart, my dear aunt, if it would not be 
downright cruelty to turn this forlorn woman 
adrift in the world without making some in- 
quiry first." 

Lady Janet's inbred sense of justice ad- 
mitted — not overwillingly — the reasona- 
bleness as well as the humanity of the view 
expressed in those words. "There is some 
truth in that, Julian," she said, shifting her 
position uneasily ?n her chair, and looking 
at Horace. " Don't you think so too ?" she 

"I can't say I do," answered Horace, in 
the positive tone of a man whose obstinacy 
is proof against every form of appeal that 
can be addressed to him. 

The patience of Julian was firm enough 
to be a match for the obstinacy of Horace. 
"At any rate," he resumed, with undimin- 
ished good temper, " we are all three equal- 
ly interested in setting this matter at rest. 
I put it to you. Lady Janet, if we are not 
favored, at this lucky moment, with the very 
opportunity that we want ? Miss Roseberry 
is not only out of the room, but out of the 
house. If we let this chance slip, who can 
say what awkward accident may not hap- 
l)en in the course of tlie next few days ?" 

"Let the woman come in," cried Lady 
Janet, deciding headlong, with her custom- 
ary impatience of all delay. " At once, Ju- 
lian — before Grace can come back. Will 
you ring the bell this time?" 

This time Julian rang it. "May I give 
the man his orders?" he respectfully in- 
quired of his aunt. 

"Give him any thing you like, and have 

done with it!" retorted the irritable old 
lady, getting briskly on her feet, and taking 
a turn in the room to compose herself. 

The servant withdrew, with orders to 
show the visitor in. 

Horace crossed the room at the same time 
— apparently with the intention of leaving 
it by the door at the opi)Osite end. 

"You are not going away?" exclaimed 
Lady Janet. 

"I see no use in my remaining here," re- 
plied Horace, not very graciously. 

"In that case," retorted Lady Janet, "re- 
main here because I Avish it." 

" Certainly — if you wish it. Only remem- 
ber," he added, more obstinately than ever, 
"that I differ entirely from Julian's view. 
In my opinion the woman has no claim on 

A passing movement of irritation escaped 
Julian for the first time. " Don't be hard, 
Horace," he said, sharply. "All women 
have a claim on us." 

They had unconsciously gathered togeth- 
er, in the heat of the little debate, turning 
their backs on the library door. At the 
last words of the reproof administered by 
Julian to Horace, their attention was re- 
called to passing events by the slight noise 
produced by the opening and closing of the 
door. With one accord the three turned 
and looked in the direction from which the 
sounds had come. 



Just inside the door there appeared the 
figure of a small woman dressed in plain 
and poor black garments. She silently 
lifted her black net veil, atid disclosed a 
dull, pale, worn, weary face. The forehead 
was low and broad ; the eyes were unusually 
far apart ; the lower features were remark- 
ably small and delicate. In health (as the 
consul at Mannheim had remarked) this 
woman must have possessed, if not absolute 
beautj^, at least rare attractions peculiarly 
her own. As it was now, sutfering — sullen, 
silent, self-contained suftering — had marred 
its beauty. Attention and even curiosity it 
might still rouse. Admiration or interest it 
could excite no longer. 

The small, thin, black figure stood immov- 
ably inside the door. The dull, worn, vrhito 
face looked silently at the three persons in 
the room. 

The three persons in the room, on their 
side, stood for a moment without moving, 
and looked silently at the strange^ on the 
threshold. There was something, either in 
the woman herself, or in the sudden and 
stealthy manner of her appearance in the 
room, which froze, as if with the touch of 



an invisible cold liaud, the sympathies of 
all three. Accustomed to the world, habit- 
ually at their ease in every social emer<;ency, 
they were now silenced for the first time in 
their lives by the first serious sense of em- 
barrassment which they had felt since they 
were children in the presence of a stranger. 

Had the appearance of the true Grace 
Roseberry aroused in their minds a suspicion 
of the woman who had stolen her name, and 
taken her place in the house ? 

Not so much as the shadow of a suspicion 
of Mercy was at the bottom of the strange 
sense of uneasiness Avhich had now deprived 
them alike of their habitual courtesy and 
their habitual presence of mind. It was as 
practically impossible for any one of the 
three to doubt the identity of the adopted 
daughter of the house as it would be for 
you who read these lines to doubt the iden- 
tity of the nearest and dearest relative you 
have in the world. Circumstances had for- 
tified Mercy behind the strongest of all nat- 
ural rights — the right of first possession. 
Circumstances had armed her with the most 
irresistible of all natural forces — the force 
of previous association and previous habit. 
Not by so much as a hair-breadth was the 
position of the false Grace Roseberry shaken 
by the first appearance of the true Grace 
Roseberry within the doors of Mablethorpe 
House. Lady Janet felt suddenly repelled, 
without knowing why. Julian and Horace 
felt suddenly repelled, without knowing 
why. Asked to describe their own sensa- 
tions at the moment, they would have 
shaken their heads in despair, and Avould 
have answered in those words. The vague 
presentiment of some misfortune to come 
had entered the room with the entrance of 
the woman in black. But it moved invis- 
ibly ; and it spoke, as all presentiments 
speak, in the Unknown Tongue. 

A moment passed. The crackling of tlie 
fire and the ticking of the clock were the 
only sounds audible in the room. 

The voice of the visitor — hard, clear, and 
quiet — was the first voice that broke the 

"Mr. Julian Gray?" she said, looking in- 
terrogatively from one of the two gentle- 
men to the other. 

Julian advanced a few steps, instantly re- 
covering his self-possession. " I am sorry I 
was not at home," he said, "when you called 
with your letter from the consul. Pray take 
a chair." 

By way of setting the example, Lady 
Janet seated herself at some little distance, 
with Horace in attendance standing near. 
She bowed to the stranger with studious 
politeness, but without uttering a word, be- 
fore she settled herself in lier chair. " I am 
obliged to listen to this i)erson," thought the 
old lad}'. " But I am not obliged to sx)eak to 

her. That is Julian's business — not mine." 
" Don't stand, Horace ! You fidget me. Sit 
down." Armed beforehand in her policy of 
silence. Lady Janet folded her handsome 
hands as usual, and waited for the x>roceed- 
iugs to begin, like a judge on the bench. 

" Will you take a chair ?" Julian repeated, 
observing that the visitor appeared neither 
to heed nor to hear his first words of wel- 
come to her. 

At this second appeal she spoke to him. 
Is that Lady Janet Roy ?" she asked, with 
her eyes fixed on the mistress of the house. 

Julian answered, and drew back to watch 
the result. 

The woman in the poor black garments 
changed her position for the first time. She 
moved slowly across the room to the place 
at which Lady Janet was sitting, and ad- 
dressed her respectfully with perfect self- 
possession of manner. Her whole demean- 
or, from the moment when she had appeared 
at the door, had expressed — at once i)lainly 
and becomingly — confidence in the recex)- 
tion that awaited her. 

"Almost the last words my father said 
to me on his death-bed," she began, " were 
words, madam, which told me to expect i)ro- 
tection and kindness from you." 

It was not Lady Janet's business to speak. 
She listened with the blandest attention. 
She waited with the most exasperating si- 
lence to hear more. 

Grace Roseberry drew back a step — not 
intimidated — only mortified and surprised. 
"Was my father wrong?" she asked, with a 
simple dignity of tone and manner which 
forced Lady Janet to abandon her j)olicy of 
silence, in spite of herself. 

" Who was your father ?" she asked, coldly. 

Grace Roseberry answered the question in 
a tone of stern surprise. 

" Has the servant not given you my card ?" 
she said. " Don't you know my name ?" 

"Which of your names?" rejoined Lady 

"I don't understand your ladyship." 

"I will make myself understood. You 
asked me if I knew your name. I ask you, 
in return, which name it is ? The name on 
your card is 'Miss Roseberry.' The name 
marked on your clothes, when you were in 
the hospital, was 'Mercy Merrick.' " 

The self-possession which Grace had main- 
tained from the moment when she had en- 
tered the dining-room, seemed now, for the 
first time, to be on the point of failing her. 
She turned, and looked ai)])ealingly at .Ju- 
lian, who had thus far kept his place apart, 
listening attentively. 

" Surely," she said, "your friend, the con- 
sul, has told you in his letter about the mark 
on the clothes ?" 

Something of the girlish hcsilation and 
timidity which had marked licr demeanor 
at her interview with Mercy in the French 



cottage reappeared iu her tone and manner 
as slie spoke those words. The changes — 
mostly changes for tlie worse — wrought in 
her by the suffering through Avhich slie liad 
passed since that time, were now (for the 
moment) effaced. All that waL left of the 
better and simpler side of her character as- 
serted itself in her brief appeal to Julian. 
She had hitherto repelled him. He began 
to feel a certain compassionate interest in 
her now. 

" The consul has informed me of what you 
said to him," he answered, kindly. "But, if 
you will take my advice, I recommend jon to 
tell your story to Lady Janet in your own 

Grace again addressed herself with sub- 
missive reluctance to Lady Janet. 

" The clothes your ladyship speaks of," she 
said, " were the clothes of another woman. 
The rain was pouring when the soldiers de- 
tained me on the frontier. I had been ex- 
posed for hours to the weather — I was wet 
to the skin. The clothes marked 'Mercy 
Merrick' were the clothes lent to me by Mer- 
cy Merrick herself while my own things were 
drying. I was struck by the shell iu those 
clothes. I was carried away insensible in 
those clothes after the operation had been 
performed on me." 

Lady Janet listened to perfection — and 
did no more. She turned confidentially to 
Horace, and said to him, in her gracefully 
ironical way, " She is ready with her ex- 

Horace answered in the same tone, "A 
great deal too ready." 

Grace looked from one of them to the oth- 
er. A faint flush of color showed itself in 
her face for the first time. 

" Am I to understand," she asked, with 
proud composure, " that you don't believe 
me ?" 

Lady Janet maintained her xiolicy of si- 
lence. She waved one hand courteously to- 
ward Julian, as if to say, " Address your in- 
quiries to the gentleman Avho introduces 
you." Julian, noticing the gesture, and ob- 
serving the rising color iu Grace's cheeks, 
interfered directly in the interests of peace. 
- "Lady Janet asked you a question just 
now," he said ; " Lady Janet inquired who 
your father was." 

" My father was the late Colonel Rose- 

Lady Janet made another confidential re- 
mark to Horace. " Her assurance amazes 
me !" she exclaimed. 

Julian interposed before his aunt could 
add a word more. " Pray let us hear her," 
he said, in a tone of entreaty which had 
something of the imperative in it this time. 
He turned to Grace. " Have you any proof 
to j»roduce," he added, in his gentler voice, 
" Avhich will satisfy us that you are Colonel 
Roscberry's daughter ?" 

Grace looked at him indignantly. " Proof!" 
she repeated. " Is my word not enough ?" 

Julian kept his temper perfectlj'. " Par- 
don me," he rejoined, " you forget that you 
and Lady Janet meet now for the first time. 
Try to put yourself in my aunt's place. 
How is she to know that you are the late 
Colonel Roseberry's daughter ?" 

Grace's head sunk on her breast ; she 
dropped into the nearest chair. The ex- 
pression of her face changed instantly from 
anger to discouragement. " Ah," she ex- 
claimed, bitterly, " if I onl}^ had the letters 
that have been stolen from me!" 

" Letters," asked Julian, " introducing you 
to Lady Janet ?" 

" Yes." She turned suddenly to Lady 
Janet. " Let me tell you how I lost them," 
she said, in the first tones of entreaty Vv^hich 
had escaped her yet. 

Lady Janet hesitated. It was not in her 
generous nature to resist the appeal that 
had just been made to her. The sympathies 
of Horace were far less easily reached. He 
lightly launched a new shaft of satire — in- 
tended for the private amusement of Lady 
Janet. "Another explanation !" he exclaim- 
ed, with a look of comic resignation. 

Julian overheard the words. His large 
lustrous eyes fixed themselves on Horace 
with a look of unmeasured contempt. 

" The least you can do," he said, sternly, " is 
not to irritate her. It is so easy to irritate 
her !" He addressed himself again to Grace, 
endeavoring to help her through her difficulty 
in a new way. "Never mind exx^laining your- 
self for the moment," he said. " In the ab- 
sence of your letters, have you any one iu 
London who can speak to your identity ?" 

Grace shook her head sadly. " I have no 
friends in London," she answered. 

It was impossible for Lady Janet — who 
had never in her life heard of any body 
without friends in London — to pass this 
over without notice. "No friends iu Lon- 
don !" she repeated, turning to Horace. 

Plorace shot another shaft of light satire. 
" Of course not !" he rejoined. 

Grace saw them comparing notes. "]^Iy 
friends are in Canada," she broke out, im- 
petuously. "Plenty of friends who could 
speak for me, if I could only bring them 

As a place of reference — mentioned in the 
capital city of England — Canada, there is no 
denying it, is open to objection on the ground 
of distance. Horace was ready with another 
shot. " Far enough off, certainly," he said. 

" Far enough off, as you say," Lady Janet 

On«e more Julian's inexhaustible kindness 
strove to obtain a hearing for the stranger 
who had been conlided to his care. "A lit- 
tle patience. Lady Janet," he }deaded. " A 
little consideration, Horace, for a friendless 



Thank you, Sir," Siiid Grace. " It is | 
very kind of you to try and lielj) me, but it ; 
is useless. They won't even listen to me." 
She attempted to rise from her chair as she 
pronounced the last words. Julian gently ! 
laid his hand on her shoulder and obliged [ 
her to resume her seat. 

" I will listen to you," he said. " You re- 
ferred me just now to the consul's letter. 
The consul tells me you susi^ected some one 
of taking your papers and your clothes." 

'^I don't suspect," was the quick reply; "I 
am certain ! I tell you positively Mercy Mer- 
rick was the thief. She was alone with me 
when I was struck down by the shell. She 
was the only person who knew that I had 
letters of introduction about me. She con- 
fessed to my face that she had been a bad 
woman — she had been in a prison — she had 
come out of a refuge — " 

Julian stopped her there with one plain 
question, which threw a doubt on the whole 

"The consul tells mo vou asked him to 
search for Mercy Merrick," he said. " Is it 
not true that he caused inquiries to be made, 
and that no trace of any such person was to 
be heard of?" 

"The consul took no x>ains to find her," 
Grace answered, angrily. " He was, like 
every body else, in a conspiracy to neglect 
and misjudge me." 

Lady Janet and Horace excliauged looks. 
This time it was impossible for Julian to 
blame them. The farther the stranger's 
narrative advanced, the less wortliy of seri- 
ous attention he felt it to be. The longer 
she spoke, the more disadvantageously she 
challenged comparison with the absent wom- 
an, whose name she so obstinately and so 
audaciously persisted in assuming as her ' 

"Granting all that you have said," Ju- 
lian resumed, with a last effort of patience, ' 
"what use could Mercy Merrick make of 
your letters and your clothes ?" 

" What use ?" repeated Grace, amazed at 
his not seeing the x>ositiou as she saw it. 
"My clothes were marked with my name. 
One of my papers was a letter from my fa- 
ther, introducing me to Lady 'Janet. A 
woman out of a refuge would be quite cajia- 
ble of presenting herself here in my place." 

Spoken entirely at random, spoken with- 
out so much as a fragment of evidence to 
support them, those last words still liad their 
effect. They cast a reflection on Lady Jan- 
et's adopted daughter wliich was too out- 
rageous to bo borne. Lady Janet rose in- ; 
stantly. " Give me your arm, Horace," she [ 
said, turning to leave the room. " 1 have 
heard enough." 

Horace respectfully offered liis arm. 
"Your ladj'ship is quite right," he answer- 
ed. " A more monstrous story never was in- 
vented." i 

He spoke, in the warmth of his indigna- 
tion, loud enough for Grace to hear him. 
" What is there monstrous in it ?" she asked, 
advancing a step toward him, defiantly. 

Julian checked her. He too — though he 
had only once seen Mercy — felt an angry 
sense of the insult offered to the beautiful 
creature who had interested him at his first 
sight of her. " Silence !" he said, speaking 
sternly to Grace for the first time. "You 
are ofiending — ^^justly offending — Lady Jan- 
et. You are talking worse than absurdly 
— you are talking offensive!}^ — when you 
speak of another woman presenting herself 
here in your place." 

Grace's blood was up. Stung by Julian's 
reproof, she turned on him a look which v/as 
almost a look of fury. 

" Are you a clergyman ? Arc you an edu- 
cated man?", she asked. "Have you never 
read of cases of false personation, in news- 
papers and books? I blindly confided iu 
Mercy Merrick before I found out what her 
character really was. She left the cottage 
— I know it, from the surgeon who brought 
me to life again — firmly persuaded that the 
shell had killed me. My x>apers and my 
clothes disappeared at the same time. Is 
there nothing suspicious in these circum- 
stances ? There were people at the hospital 
who thought them highly suspicious — i)eo- 
ple who warned me that I might find an im- 
postor in my i)lace." She suddenly paused. 
The rustling sound of a silk dress had caught 
her ear. Lady Janet was leaving the room, 
with Horace, by way of the conservatory. 
With a last desperate effort of resolution, 
Grace sprang forward and placed herself iu 
front of them. 

" One word, Lady Janet, before you turn 
3^our back on me," she said, firmly. " One 
word, and I will be content. Has Colonel 
Roseberry's letter found its way to this 
house or not ? If it has, did a woman bring 
it to you ?" 

Lady Janet looked — as only a great ladj' 
can look, when a person of inferior rank has 
presumed to fail in respect toward her. 

" You are surely not aware," she said, 
with icy composure, "that these questions 
are an insult to Me ?" 

"And worse than an insult," floracc add- 
ed, warmly, "to Grace!" 

The little resolute black figure (still bar- 
ring the way to the conservatory) was siul- 
denly shaken from head to foot. The wom- 
an's eyes traveled backward and forward 
between Lady Janet and Horace with the 
light of a new suspicion in thcin. 

" Grace !" she exclaiuKMl. " What Grace 1 
That's my name. Lady Janet, you have got 
the letter ! The woman is here !" 

Lady Janet dropped Horace's arm, and 
retraced her steps to the place at which her 
nei)hew was standing. 

"Julian," she said. "You force mo for 



tho first time iu my life to remind you of 
the respect that is due to me iu my own 
house. Scud that woman away." 

Without waitin<^to he answered, she turn- 
ed back again, and once more took Horace's 

" Stand back, if you please," she said, qui- 
etly, to Grace. 

Grace held her ground. 

" The woman is here !" she repeated. 
Confront me with her — and then send me 
away, if you like." 

Julian advanced, and firmly took her by 
the arm. " You forget what is due to Lady 
Janet," ho said, drawing her aside. " You 
forget what is due to j'ourself." 

With a desperate effort, Grace broke away 
from him, and stopped Lady Janet on the 
threshold of the conservatory door. 

" Justice !" she cried, shaking her clinch- 
ed hand with hysterical frenzy in the air. 
" I claim my right to meet that woman fiice 
to face ! Where is she ? Confront mo with 
her ! Confront me with her !" 

While those wild words were pouring from 
her lips, the rumbling of carriage-wiieels be- 
came audible on the drive in front of the 
house. In the all-absorbing agitation of the 
moment, the sound of the wheels (followed 

by the opening of the house door) passed 
unnoticed by the persons in tho dining- 
room. Horace's voice was still raised in 
angry protest against the insult offered to 
Lady Janet; Lady Janet herself (leaving 
him for the second time) was vehemently 
ringing the bell to summon the servants; 
Julian had once more taken the infuriated 
w^oman by the arm, and was trying vainly 
to compose her — when the library door was 
opened quietly by a youug lady wearing a 
mantle and a bonnet. Mercy-Merrick (true 
to the appointment which she had made 
with Horace) entered the room. 

The first eyes that discovered her presence 
on the scene were the eyes of Grace Rose- 
berry. Starting violently in Jiilian's grasp, 
she pointed toward the liljrary door. ^' Ah !" 
she cried, with a shriek of vindictive delight. 
''There she is!" 

Mercy turned as the sound of the scream 
rang through the room, and met — resting 
on her in savage triumph — the living gaze 
of the woman whose identity she had stolen, 
whose body she had left laid out for dead. 
On the instant of that terrible discovery — 
with her eyes fixed helplessly on the fierce 
eyes that had found her — she dropped sense- 
less on the floor. 


IN the code of romance, genius and afflu- 
ence are inversely proportional. Mr. Ed- 
ward Tremaiue's studio presented a striking 
confirmation of the theory. Upon the im- 
mediate receipt of pecuniary equivalent for 
the picture on his easel depended the pacific 
adjustment of his board bill ; and the pic- 
ture was unquestionably a work of genius. 

It would perhaps be premature to" assert 
that the artist was at that time a full-fledged 
genius ; there were hardly sufficient data^ as 
yet from which to judge. Safer to regard 
him merely as a talented young fellow who, 
by a combination of fortunate external and 
internal conditions, had produced an immor- 
tal work. If subsequent productions sus- 
tained it, admit him a genius; otherwise, 

The subject was simple : three faces — two, 
bright and vivid, in the foreground ; a third, 
grave and shadowy, appearing from behind. 
Pleasing at first glance, as you gazed tho pic- 
ture gradually satisfied your inmost heart, 
flooding every nook and Cranny with delight. 
All elements to kindle human interest were 
there, yet was every thing idealized, thus 
widening the picture's sway. LovjB was the 
key-note — love in its highest phase, dimmed 
by no touch of sensuality or sordidness. And 
whether gazing at the young girl who, with 
sweet, ajipealing eyes, and blushing, as it 
were, at her own modesty, shrank while she 

clung to the vigorous vitality of the youth ; 
or, again, at his fair young face, which, bright 
with the first light of lofty thoughts and pas- 
sionate impulses, was softened and subdued 
by her trust and reliance on his strength ; 
or, fiuallj^, at the grave eyes, thoughtful 
brow, and eloquent li^is of the sage in the 
background, made yet more gracious by 
their aspect of sympathy and interest in 
the untried young lives before him : toward 
whichever of these the glance was turned 
it still recognized, underlying and eleA"ating 
all, the deathless sentiment of love in all its 
varied forms. Mr. Tremaine, having added 
the finishing touch, stei)ped back a few 
paces, with his head on one side, and stood 
contemplating his work in silence. 

" I call that good," ho remarked at length, 
with all the candor of one who is by himself. 
"Hope it '11 prove a true symbol, and that 
the Professor will take the hint. Don't see 
how he can heli^ it." 

Young men are not invariably gifted with 
one idea to the exclusion of others, any more 
than any body else ; and what they do may 
sometimes happen to be done with more than 
one purpose. A work of genius may elevate 
posterity a hundred years from now, yet bo 
thereby in no way incapacitated from min- 
istering to the immediate wants, or even ne- 
cessities, of its author. 

Following close upon Mr. Tremaiue's re- 



mark was lieard tlie well-known knock of 
the Professor, who, having been cordially 
if not obseqnionsly admitted, sat down in 
a chair opposite the picture, and studied it 
a while in silence. He was not given to 
unnecessary conversation. Brains, learning, 
and money, taken in sufficiently large quan- 
tities, will cure any one of loquacity, and 
the Professor bore evidence of free indul- 
gence in all three. Nevertheless his ex- 
pression was simple and kindly, and he 
looked like a benevolent old fellow enough, 
as why should he not ? 

"You've been more than successful here, 
Edward," said ho at last. "The world 
might remember vou for this." 

Edward flushed. So far, very good in- 
deed. The idea of a board bill having ever 
caused him uneasiness ! 

"To look behind tlie veil society draws 
over our real selves," continued the Profess- 
or, "and paint what we are inwardly con- 
scious of being, or of the capability of be- 
coming, is a great feat. You have at once 
caught and idealized the likenesses ; and in 
the most difficult part of your subject — the 
maiden, Hildegarde — you have best succeed- 
ed. Beautiful as she is, you have painted her 
soul rather than herself." 

Edward's flush hereupon so deepened that 
one might have imagined other sentiments 
than pleasure concerned in its production. 
Such, at any rate, was the fact ; he had long 
loved Hildegarde, the lovely ward of his pa- 
tron, the Professor ; and in painting this pic- 
ture had doul)tless thought to shadow forth 
the fact to that gentleman, and prepare his 
mind to know the hitherto carefuUj'^ con- 
cealed secret. He now awaited the next 
remark with some anxiety; much might 
depend on it. 

"'Tis a confirmation of my theory," said 
the Professor, musingly. " Who looks at 
life dispassionately, alone portrays it clear- 
ly. Now in this idealized conjunction of 
maidenhood and youth — of yourself and 
Hildegarde — is embodied the very essence 
of love ; but had you been under the influ- 
ence of the passion, you could never thus 
have painted it." 

Rather a damper. "Confound his theo- 
ries!" ejaculated Edward, very much below 
his breath. Evidently paint-brush language 
wasn't plain enough. Must try the other 
way, then. 

" I don't quite agree with you there, Pro- 
fessor," he began, in a gently argumentative 
manner. " Love, it strikes me, is the best 
teacher — the truest expounder. What suc- 
cess has been achieved in this picture is due 
to the sentiment insi)iring the artist rather 
than to his skill." Not impossible. 

When people hear what they have no wish 
to hear, they sometimes say, in a harsh tone, 
" I don't understand you !" That was exact- 
ly what the Professor said. Then he added, 

"You don't mean that — " and paused, 
looking full at poor Edward. Had Edward 
been older, or wiser, he would have perceived 
that the Professor wanted, not an explana- 
tion, but a disclaimer, and had made the 
pause in order to give him a chance to put 
one in before it was too late. But he was 
young and foolish, and bestowed not a 
thought upon the matter. Having before- 
hand decided that this would bo a good op- 
portunity for a confession, he was blind to 
all bad omens, and out he blurted the whole 

The burden of which was that Edward 
loved Hildegarde, and Hildegarde Edward ; 
only, by way of eloquence, or to impress the 
facts on the Professor's mind, the unhappy 
youth so amplitied, varied, beflowered, and 
bespangled them that redundancy could no 
further go. Had his listener been thirsting 
all his life long to hear just this communi- 
cation, he would have repented ere it Avere 
well begun ; but he had not thirsted. The 
end came at last, leaving Edward with glow- 
ing cheeks, kindling eyes, and the convic- 
tion that he had made a deep impression ; 
and the Professor — well, the Professor's face 
was shaded by his hand, but it was likely 
he had been deeply impressed for all that. 

He remained undemonstrative so long that 
Edward began to grow restless. Not that 
he doubted of the result ; his cause was too 
reasonable, too well pleaded for that ; but 
he did feel a slight disappointment that the 
response had not come with more gush and 
spontaneity. To do him justice, he had as 
good grounds for hope as most young men 
in his position ; and had it not been for one 
untoward circumstance, which he could not 
be blamed for overlooking, all might have 
been well. Inasmuch as a knowledge of 
this circumstance will throw considerable 
light on subsequent developments, be the 
reader informed that it was simply this : the 
Professor himself was in love Avith Hilde- 
garde ! If Edward had only known that ! 

Tlie Professor, as the Avorld goes, had al- 
ways been an excellent man ; he had not had 
much occasion to be any thing else. Now 
men with a great amount of uninvested in- 
tellect arc not always safe, as regards them- 
selves or others, but it was not exactly to 
be expected that ho should enrich a rival at 
the expense of both purse and heart, in spite 
of current fiction. Nor could he be severely 
blamed for taking such advantage of a young 
and handsome rival as a gentleman on the 
shady side of life might find possibles. He 
held two trumps — his wealtli, and Edward's 
ignorance of his rivalsliij). Wlio will say 
he had no right to play tliem ? At any rate, 
he resolved to do so : the best way, was the 
next question. 

The Professor ])ressed tlie fingers and 
thumb of his right hand across his eyes and 
down the sides of his nose, then looked up 



at Edward. His expression was inscruta- 
ble, his voice unnsnally musical. 

" Edward, I Avill be frank witb you. You 
have surprised, even shaken, me not a lit- 
tle. A fatlier's love and care toward Hilde- 
garde could hardly e(iual mine ; but I am 
not therefore bliud to her highest good. 
And if I must be conscientious and judicious, 
do not think me selfish." 

Oh dear, no ! Edward would do nothing 
of the sort. He was poor, he knew, but 
trusted not to be always so ; hoped that in 
time — 

"The practice of your art will enrich 
you," interposed the Professor, stroking his 
nose gentl3\ " Yes, but does genius always 
mean wealth ? Doesn't the very excellence 
of your picture, for instance, pronounce 
against its popularity ? 'Tis a rule of na- 
ture — the loftier, the more isolated." 

"But might not even that narrow circle 
be sufficient ?" 

" Well objected ! Command the right 
audience, no matter how limited, and your 
fortune may still be secure. Nay, gain the 
patronage of but a single individual whose 
means and taste are alike of the first order, 
and why seek farther? Do you take my 
meaning ?" 

As the Professor at this juncture inserted 
his hand into his pocket and elicited thence 
a gentle clinking sound, the inference was 
irresistible. Edward started, with a glance 
of questioning surx^rise. The other nodded 
his head slowly. 

" On two conditions," said he, " both sim- 
ple and easy of fulfillment, I engage to as- 
sure your fortune. First, all pictures you 
paint are to belong to me ; second, you are to 
paint nothing but copies of the picture now 
on your easel. Do you agree ?" 

Edward grasped the Professors hands 
fervently. Could it be true ? How good ! 
how kind ! how — 

The Professor's mouth wore a peculiar 
smile. " Now as to terms," said he. " For 
the first copy I'll give you one thousand 
dollars, fifteen hundred for the second, two 
thousand for the third, and so on, raising 
five hundred dollars on every successive 
coi)y. On your diligence, therefore, will it 
depend in liow many months or years you 
are rich, lint remember," emphasized the 
Professor, embracing the end of his nose 
with his forefinger, " if you paint for any 
one but me, or any thing else than copies of 
this picture, you forfeit all money up to that 
time received. You understand ?" 

" Perfectly, dearest Professor. And when 
I'm rich I may marry Hildegarde ?" 

The Professor rose, laid his hand on Ed- 
ward's shoulder, and looked fixedly at him. 
" When you feel no further need for money, 
she is yours," said he. Edward burst forth 
in incoherent gratitude, but his benefactor 
turned away, and the peculiar smile was 

broader than ever. "I have him safe," he 
murmured, as he descended the stairs. "And 
she — is a beautiful — young — girl !" 

Alone, Edward lit a pipe and sat down to 
reflect on his good fortune. But he was not 
as cheerful as he had expected to be ; he 
looked almost discontented. Somehow the 
glow and enthusiasm for his art which he 
had felt an hour ago had vanished. He 
had a vague idea of a desecration some- 
where. A certain throb of the heart, half 
fearful, half exultant, which,- when antici- 
pating the battle of life, it had been his 
wont to feel, was missing noAV. Natural : 
his future was a thing of the past already ; 
it stood there on his easel, or chinked in the 
Professor's capacious i)ocket ; it was all the 
same. What Avas the picture but a huge 
roll of bank-bills, cunningly contrived to 
give the appearance of a work of art ? ^\Tiat 
was he but a coiner of money ? Artist in- 
deed ! 

But, again, what more absurd than to in- 
dulge such feelings ! Was not love — Hilde- 
garde — his aim and object? Therefore, 
what fear of harm ? With the right to pos- 
sess must come the power to support her. 
Why be foolish and romantic ? Life was 
nowadays a serious, practical business, not 
a gilded vision. Money first, then and aft- 
erward — Hildegarde. That was the correct 

How gratified would have been his friend 
the Professor could he have heard Edward 
enunciate it! He reclined in his favorite 
easy-chair, and stroked his nose abstracted- 
ly. His face seemed to have lost in a meas- 
ure the grave calm customary to it. It now 
wore an expression of, let us say, astuteness. 
He was playing a very neat little game, in 
which his penetrating intellect and worldly 
knowledge were serving him well. A deep- 
ly interesting game, too. What more fas- 
cinating than to take a nice fresh young 
soul, and, by virtue of your knowledge of 
the principles of its construction, mould it 
into something quite at variance with the 
original design? What an indescribable 
superadded charm, should the issue of the 
experiment be fraught with the most desir- 
able results to yourself — nothing less than 
the successful consummation of a romantic 
attachment! Therefore, thrice happy Pro- 
fessor ! no wonder he smiled so peculiarly ! 

True, carping persons might inquire 
whether, in reconstructing other people's na- 
tures, he might not risk the symmetry of his 
own ; whether the record of his researches 
miiiht not be read on his own countenance. 
The Professor, of course, was superior to 
such innuendoes ; but I am not prepared to 
maintain that he was acting blamelessly, 
for this reason — that he subsequently be- 
came the victim of a ghastly punishment, 
Avhicli, by the eternal fitness of things, he 
must have somehow provoked. Let the 



reader, if he fiuishes the narrative, judge for 

Meanwhile the innocent and lovely cause 
of these eft'ects "was diligently occupied in 
her two avocations of lying on the sofa and 
novel-reading, when she was interrupted by 
a note, the perfume of which recalled the 
pipe of her darliug Edward. While she 
perused the contents, her novel fell unheed- 
ed to the floor. Of the dejith and sincerity 
of her love there could be no question. 

The letter read, the hand which held it 
fell to her lap ; the other's taper little fore- 
finger found its way to her rosy mouth ; her 
tender blue eyes opened very wide at noth- 
ing, and she sighed. 

"Oh dear!" she murmured, "how dread- 
ful men are ! And now Edward is going to 
be just like the rest of them. He never used 
to say any thing except that he loved me 
better than his own soul, and that I was the 
inspiration of his art, and all nice things of 
that kind ; but now he's begun about mon- 
ey, and supporting, and business. I think 
it's too bad. He'll be practical and hateful 
like other men. I w^sh there wasn't any 
such thing as money! It was sweet of dear 
old Guardie, though, to be so nice to Ed- 
ward. And I suppose one must have mon- 
ey to marry on, though its horrid to be al- 
ways talking about it so. I wonder how 
much '11 be enough ! I'll ask Edward next 
time I see him." 

Such a sustained stretch of thought, rea- 
soning, and speculation was too exhausting 
for our sweet Hildegarde. She resumed the 
slighted novel, and her tender eyes con- 
templated nothing in another form. But 
the contraction of her delicate little eye- 
brows when she apx)eared at tea that even- 
ing could scarce be accounted for by the 
ddnouemcut of the tale, harrowing though 
ib was. The Professor, however, was un- 
usually entertaining, even for him, and told 
a most absurd story about the misfortunes 
of a couple of young people who had gotten 
married witliout money enough to pay the 
minister. Hildegarde laughed her eyes full 
of tears, and in tlio midst of it was horror- 
struck at the thought that no longer ago 
than the day before she would liave thought 
nothing of doing just such a thing herself. 
How much she had learned since then ! As 
the Professor had said, she was now nothing 
but a beautiful young girl, ready to learn 
any thing. 

Edward set to work on the first copy of 
his picture, and by diligent application 
completed it wonderfully soon. He consid- 
ered it the superior of the original in all re- 
spects but one ; that, strange to say, was 
the i)ortrait of the youtli. Something was 
wrong about it, yet he could not but con- 
fess it a better likeness of himself than 
the original. Surely that could not be the 
reason it appeared almost commonplace 
Vol. XLVI.-Xo. 2T1.-9 

beside the insi)ired features of his first 

But it was not to be altered ; and so su- 
perlative was the excellence of the other 
two faces that he feared not but that the 
picture would be approved, and forthwith 
invited Hildegarde and tlie Professor to see 
it. The latter took his seat in the critic's 
chair with an aspect of unusual gracious- 
ness, but ere he had been looking at the inc- 
turo a minute Edward saw something was 
out of the way. Had he also discovered the 
defective youth ? 

" My dear Edward, is there not — the pic- 
ture in all other respects is excellent — but 
is there not a considerable deterioration in 
the expression of the sage in the back- 
ground? Methinks there is less of philo- 
sophic repose, and more of a certain crafty 
dissimulation observable in the copied than 
in the original countenance. Don't you 
agree with me, Hildegarde?" 

" I think," replied that young lady, " that 
your portrait and Edward's are perfect im- 
ages ; but I think it's very mean in him to 
have made such a looking thing of me. I 
look as though I cared a great deal more for 
my dress and pearl necklace than for the — 

Hildegarde pouted her pretty lip ; it was 
too much to expect of her to finish the sen- 
tence. But enough had been said to prove 
to Edward's satisfaction that very nice peo- 
ple might be very stupid critics. He forbore, 
nevertheless, to make his indignation known, 
more especially since the Professor hesitated 
not to place one thousand dollars to his ac- 
count at the banker's. But he also forbore 
to demand of the Professor the hand of Hil- 
degarde, as he had intended to do on receipt 
of this first installment of his fortune. A 
thousand dollars in the hand did not a])pear 
e(iual to that sum in the bush ; it would be 
wiser — more prudent — to paint one or two 
more copies first : better be on the safe side. 

The Professor, under guise of caressing his 
nose, watched the young gentleman covert- 
ly, and with manifest satisfaction. ReaUy 
it was a very interesting experiment. 

When he and Hildegarde had taken their 
departure Edward stood for a few moments 
regarding the two pictures. There was no 
use denying the fact; the copy might be 
better painted, but equal to the original in 
point of expression it was not ! What sliould 
be d»)ne ? 

After a pause Edward took the original 
X)icturo, carried it to the dark dosrt, and 
jdaced it in the furthest corner, with its face 
toward the wall. 

"I'll coi)y my copy for the future," said 
he to himself. "As long as I'm paid for it, 
what's the odds ?" 

Was it not, after all, a sign of ])rf)gress ? 
Is not our im])rov<'m('nt marked by a sense 
of our early deficiencies — a perception of a 



certain crudity — an unreality — about tliem, 
which is abhorrent to our maturer and bet- 
ter-trained taste ? And granting the diversi- 
ty of opinion — some preferring the chaste, 
delicate coloring and expression of the inde- 
scribably awkward pre-Raphaelite Madon- 
nas to the matchless grace and warm flesh, 
blood, and human uaturo of the modern 
French school — is it not generally notice- 
able that upholders of the former style are 
deficient in that practical, business view of 
life which, after all, is the summum bonum of 
the present day ? 

"Two years gone, and not married. By 
Jove!" ejaculated Mr. Tremaine, leaning 
back in his chair and yawning. But can 
that be the boyish, immature young fellow 
we have heretofore known by that name ? 
Why, what a change ! what an improvement ! 
Married or not, he is positively transfigured. 
Stouter ; hair short, and parted behind ; love- 
ly scarf; entire absence of soft sentimental- 
ity and dreamy abstraction ; instead, the 
shrewd, calculating glance of one under- 
standing, and not to be cheated out of, his 
highest good; and the scarcely perceptible 
lines at the corners of his eyes and about 
his mouth spoke volumes. His friends 
should congratulate him; his best friend, 
the Professor, often did. 

But his artistic had kept pace with his 
moral, mental, and physical advancement. 
Marvelous was the rapidity and proficiency 
of execution to which he had attained. So 
well did he understand the mixing of each 
tint, graduating of each shadow, and bright- 
ening of each light that he could almost 
have managed it with closed eyes. It is 
worth while to copy one's self, if for nothing 
else, for the sake of the great perfection cer- 
tain to be arrived at. 

Mr. Tremaine, after the remark above re- 
corded, j)roduced a small leather-bound book 
from his left breast pocket, and proceeded, 
with absorbed and corrugated brow, to con- 
sult it. Probably, judging from the interest, 
the affection, with which he lingered over 
the contents, it contained extracts from the 
more tender passages of Hildegarde's letters, 
interspersed, perhaps, with profound obser- 
vations, wise maxims, and beautiful thoughts 
on art and the artistic life. 

" H'm !" said Mr. Tremaine. " Let me sec. 
Twenty-four — thirty-six — and five times six 
— -thirty-nine thousand. H'm ! No, no !" he 
concluded, carefully replacing the book in 
his pocket. " Can't afford it sooner than 
next year, anyway; and I don't believe 
she'll mind waiting." And forthwith he set 
to work with renewed vigor upon the half- 
finished picture l^cforo him. 

In a few minutes a sniart rap on the door 
caused him to pause ; but before he had made 
up his mind to say " Come in," the door was 
opened, and a young lady entered. 

She was very pretty and very stylish. 
Hat, chignon, panier, high heels — all in per- 
fection ; very bright-colored kids, and a par- 
asol with a big hook on the end of the shaft. 
Her countenance evinced self-possession of 
the most firmly established description ; evi- 
dently she could have held her own among 
a corps of medical students without blush 
or shiver. Her expression was smart and 
knowing ; no fool, but not averse to a little 
fooling. In short, she was an example of all 
the virtues appertaining to the girl of the 
period ; and had it not been for something 
strangely familiar in the contour of her face, 
we should dismiss the discussion of her per- 
fections with a sigh — of admiration. 

" That you, Hildy ?" inquired Mr. Tremaine, 
glancing over his shoulder. " Where've you 
been these two days ?" 

Hildegarde — for she it was, albeit so im- 
proved from the simjjle, child-like, innocent- 
eyed little girl we last saw — sank into a 
rocking-chair, and fanned herself with one 
of Dumas's novels, just taken from the libra- 
ry. It was a hot day. 

"You've missed me, haven't you?" said 
she, countering Mr. Tremaine's question with 
great piquancy. " I declare," she continued, 
"if the man hasn't nearly finished another!" 
bringing a pair of tortoise-shell eyeglasses 
to bear on the canvas. 

" I'm a hard-w^orking man, Hildy," replied 
Mr. Tremaine, laying down his palette and 
brushes, and heaving a business-like sigh. 

" Yes," returned Hildy the arch, " and you 
don't make any thing in the way of money 
out of it either, do you ? All for love of me, 
isn't it? Ha! ha! ha!" 

To this spicy sally Tremaine made no re- 
ply. He sat staring at the door of the dark 
closet, plunged in a brown-study. Then his 
eyes reverted to the picture on the easel, 
and fijially they rested on Hildegarde as she 
sat with her chair tipped back against the 
wall, turning over the pages of her novel. 
She had changed, and no mistake. 

" Do you ever think of when we'll be mar- 
ried, Hildy ?" he demanded, abruptly. 

" Why, of course I do, you goose," replied 
she, dropping the book to her lap, and re- 
garding him without a particle of prudish- 
ness. Haven't I decided on my dress, and 
what it's to cost, and who are to bo the 
bridemaids, and — " 

"And when the wedding's to be, I sup- 
pose," put in Tremaine, with some asperity. 

" Oh, that's your business," retorted Hil- 
degarde, righting her chair and rising. " If 
you'd ever thought of any thing but money 
you'd have married mo long ago, you old 
stingy ! But you needn't be cross ; I didn't 
come to discuss the matrimonial, but just to 
tell you that Guardie's coming over here 
this afternoon, and says he wants to see that 
old thing you painted years ago — the first 
one, you know ; so you'd better set to work 



and hunt it u]). By-by !" And the panier 

Mr. Tremaine mnst have been in an un- 
commonly sensitive mood that morning ; his 
usual imperturbability seemed to have been 
ruffled to quite a perceptible degree. Per- 
haps he had been thinking of past days, 
TV hen the "old thing" was yet in the first 
blush of creation, and Hildegarde "was all 
unversed in the accomplishments which now 
distinguished her ; in which case he may per- 
haps be excused for feeling somewhat jarred 
at the violence of the contrast so abruptly 
obtruded upon his meditations. Some peo- 
ple appear to regret old times, however com- 
paratively undesirable, merely because they 
are old. 

After sitting in moody contemplation for 
a while, he went to the door of the dark 
closet and opened it. The light from the 
outer room fell into it, disclosing piles of 
confused rubbish of all kinds ; and in the 
furthest, duskiest recess, standing with its 
face against the wall, appeared the long-hid- 
den picture, upon which the superstructure 
of his present prosperity had been built. 
Stepping across the piles of rubbish encum- 
bering the floor, he brought forth the anti- 
quated production, and set it on a chair by 
the side of his latest copy. Then, having 
brushed off the accumulated dust with his 
handkerchief, he applied himself to a critic- 
al comparison of the two. 

His first criticism was an involuntary cry 
of surprise. Surely that could not be the 
original which he had believed himself to be 
all this time reproducing ! Impossible that 
the same man, with the same soul, should 
have painted the first and the last. How 
then ? Tlie identity of his soul or the iden- 
tity of the x>icture — which should ho trust ? 

It does not often occur to any one, the op- 
portunity to place side by side (and exam- 
ine) the individual of the past with him of 
the present. Probably when it does the 
sensations experienced are such as would 
not have been anticipated. Memory fur- 
nishes no test ; it is too thoroughly impreg- 
nated with the coloring matter of life to be 
trustworthy. Only that into which the very 
essence of our existence has been breathed 
in a visible form can serve. Mr. Tremaine's 
picture, embodying as it did the innermost 
traits of his disposition and character at the 
time of its x>roduction, afforded unsurpassed 
advantages for this interesting experiment. 
But Mr. Tremaine's face, instead of express- 
ing, as one would have expected, the grati- 
fied vanity of him who feels a just pride in 
the i)roofs of his advancement, obstinately 
persisted in presenting the aspect of one 
who has, unknown to himself, been nourish- 
ing for years a loathsome and deadly disease 
in his very vitals, and has unexpectedly 
come to a realization of the startling fact. 

On consideration, of course, the result of 

these two years' work, startling as it ap- 
peared, was the most natural thing in the 
world, and but for the element of abrupt- 
ness would have produced not the slightest 
impression on Mr. Tremaine. He had laid 
away the first pictm-e from a half-acknowl- 
edged feeling that it contained a subtle 
something which he had lost the power to 
repeat, if, indeed, it be ever possible to re- 
peat what is completely excellent. But once 
freed from the presence of the irritant, the 
irritation had soon subsided and been for- 
gotten, and — consequences are inevitable. 
It is hardly necessary to remark that the 
astute Professor had foreseen the catastro- 
phe, had reasoned that the demolition of one 
sentiment would invalidate the foundations 
of a kindi-ed one — the corruption of an ar- 
tistic would but precede the decay of a hu- 
man love; and on these principles had he 
played his neat little game. He deserved to 
win ; but his success, in its ultimate results, 
was perhaps a trifle too complete to be al- 
together enviable. 

How the question as to identity of soul, 
which the comparison of the pictures had 
raised, was settled has never been definitely 
ascertained. After a jn-olonged scrutiny, 
Mr. Tremaine took up his brushes and palette, 
seated himself before his last copy, and be- 
gan to paint with great earnestness and ra- 
pidity, and with a wholly indescribable smile 
playing about his lips. With what object 
and issue will presently appear. But by the 
time the Professor and his ward were due 
the picture was completed, after a fashion, 
and was placed side by side with the other 
in a favorable light at the end of the room. 
And then he waited, with a hectic flush in 
his cheeks, eyes bright, and thrilling all 
over with uncontrollable excitement, for their 
arrival. Very undignified conduct on the 
part of so indifferent and self-poised a gen- 
tleman as Mr. Tremaine. Had he been going 
on trial for his life, or more than that, he 
could not have appeared more agitated. 

The knock at last ! " Now for it !" mut- 
tered Tremaine ; and opening the door, he 
admitted the suave Professor and the fash- 
ionable Hildegarde arm in arm. The former 
greeted him with his customary oily and im- 
pressive courtesy ; but with unprecedented 
rudeness Tremaine turned from him and 
directed a glance of as unprecedented ear- 
nestness and feeling on Hildegarde. She, 
however, was equal to the occasion, and by 
devoting her entire mind to the shaking out 
of her skirts, reaiTangement of her scarf, 
and adjustment of her hair-])ins, adminis- 
tered wholesonuj rebuke to his l)a(l man- 
ners. He addressed himself to the Professor : 

" You wished to see the original design, 
Sir, of which every thing that I have since 
accomplished has been a rcinodiiction. The 
request has led to an ini])()rfant <liscovery. 
If you recollect the exact terms of our agree- 



meiit, you wiW not require to be informed 
■what that discovery is. Be kiud enough to 
compare the hrst and the hist." 

Thus adjured, the Professor put ou his 
spectach's and turned his attention in the 
direction indicated. 

"Ah! Yes! Beauti— H'm! Eh? What's 
this?" he exclaimed, in his harshest tones, 
as he for the first time took in the signifi- 
cance of the comparison. And he directed 
a glance of savage malignity toward Tre- 
maine, "who returned it with a somewhat 
haughty smile. As for Hildegarde, she 
evinced her appreciation of the situation by 
remarking, vaguely, " Oh, how mean !" and 
giggling incoherently. 

For whatever doubts may heretofore have 
existed in regard to Edward Tremaine's 
claims to genius Avere forever settled now. 
The Professor felt it, and trembled while he 
hated ; poor Hildegarde, in her poor way, 
acknowledged it ; and Tremaine himself 
knew it, and ]iis eyes kindled, and his form 
seemed to dilate with the majesty of the 

The two pictures were perfect in their 
way. The perfection in each brought out 
and rendered more startlingly defined the 
perfection in the other. Each seemed to 
borrow from the other an awful power that 
penetrated the soul, and made it quiver to 
the core. Between them was dissimilarity 
as wide as the universe, and yet a terri- 
ble relationshij), impossible to mistake, that 
bound them inseparably together. Such is 
the relationship and such the bonds by 
which heaven and hell are united. 

In the hasty touches which the artist had 
given his latest picture he had but carried 
out and completed the fearful change that 
had all along gradually but surely been 
working up to this result. The three faces 
that now looked forth from the canvas were 
those of three condemned souls ; but deep as 
were the marks of misery, degradation, and 
despair written on each of them, these could 
not hide the awful likeness to the divinely 
inspired countenances that shone from the 
neighboring canvas. And the brightness 
and inetfable sweetness of the one cast an 
additional gloom over the murky darkness 
of the other. 

There was a silence : then the Professor 
laughed shortly and derisively. He leaned 
back in his chair, his bony forefinger sought 
his thin nose, and he glanced up at Tre- 
maine with a sly, malicious leer. 

" Are you aware you've broken your con- 
tract ?" said he. " You can't ])retend to call 
this picture a copy of the original there ; so 
all the money you've heretofore received re- 
verts to me." 

Contrary to the good Professor's expecta- 
tion, Tremaine broke forth neither into tears 
nor entreaties. He scarcely seemed, indeed, 
to hear what was said, but turned his eyes 

full on Hildegarde, who shrank somewhat 
nearer to her guardian as his glance fell ou 
her. When he spoke, his voice was resonant 
with power, yet thrilling with an under-toue 
of sad and yearning tenderness. 

" Come, it is not yet too late. See, our 
souls are painted here — pure and loving as 
they were once, and cloudy and hateful as 
they now are. But the spell he has thrown 
on us is broken at last ! Oh, sweep away 
the dust and stains that have settled on your 
heart ! Cast off this slavery, and be my dar- 
ling little Hildegarde again." 

But by this time the Professor had recov- 
ered his rarely disturbed equanimity, and he 
interposed in his blandest tones : 

"What has occurred, my dear Edward, 
painful in itself, yet renders easier the task 
of acquainting you with an important alter- 
ation in the relations of yourself and Hilde- 
garde. The regard I am pleased to observe 
you still retain for her is, I am sure, greater 
than to desire her marriage to a penniless 
artist ; and I am convinced you will be de- 
lighted to hear she has this day consented 
to become my wife, thereby securing both 
the luxury and the tender care which other- 
wise she must have lost." 

" Oh, Hildegarde," cried Tremaine, in deej), 
tremulous tones, " can this be the truth ? 
Can you leave me now, and unite yourself to 
him ?" 

" But you've lost all your money," whim- 
pered Hildegarde, pettishly ; " and Guardie's 
more my style, too !" 

The Professor offered his future wife his 
arm, and they turned to go ; but the artist 
detained them, j)ointing to a Satanic phys- 
iognomy peering from the smoky back- 
ground of his latest work. 

" It's my duty to tell you — what seems to 
have escaped your notice — that both speci- 
fications of our contract are violated. This 
last copy was iiainted for some one else than 
the Professor !" 

— Well, did the Professor marry Hilde- 
garde ? Certainly ! But then — what be- 
came of that " ghastly liunishment" you 
spoke of? 


These dead leaves were a violet once 

A tender, timid thing, 
A sleeping beauty, till the wind 

Kissed it awake in spring. 

Then for one little, little hour 
It knew love's deep delight: 

Unto the wooing wind it gave 
All that a violet might. 

And then it drooped and faded happily ; 
For, having loved, it is not pain to die. 

(BMtnr's iBm\\ Clinir. 

THERE is a class of men whom we all know, 
of the utmost delicacy and purity of nature, 
of quick sympathy and admirable accomplish- 
ment, who influence us like exquisite music, and 
who, without marked originality or commanding 
force, are remembered only like music wiien they 
are gone. Indeed, the fineness of nature which 
is most attractive, the conscientious intellect, so 
to speak, to which partisanship is impossible, 
and which pensively sees the equal reason of the 
other view, is incompatible with the quality 
which makes leadership, and wliich most im- 
presses mankind. "Pray continue to be orna- 
mental,*' said an accomj)lished woman of the 
world to a young man who began to feel a de- 
sire to take his share of the world's work. She 
forgot that the most exquisitely wrought column 
is yet of stone, and helps support the architrave. 
The Chevalier Bayard or Sir Philip Sidney car- 
ries a guitar upon a ribbon, but hfs sword is 
hung upon leather beneath it. He kneels in 
graceful compliment to the queen, but he kneels 
also in prayer to his Maker. 

The charm of such a character is resistless. 
How little Sidney did, yet how much he is the 
darling of the history of his time, as he was of 
his coiitemijoraries ! Horace Walpole, who call- 
ed Goldsmith an inspired idiot, is the only En- 
glishman who sneers at Sidney. He was a kind 
of flower of men, and, like other flowers, he nei- 
ther toiled nor spun. A cumbrous and stately 
novel in the affected style of his time, a noble 
essay upon poetry, and a few memorable sonnets, 
with his letter to Elizabeth against the French 
marriage, are all that remain to us of what he 
did. Nobody reads his "Arcadia;" few know 
his sonnets ; his letter to the queen is forgotten. 
But Sidney survives. His name is the synonym 
of courtesy and grace, of accomplishment and 
yalor. And he names for us a whole class of 
men, gentle and spirited as he was, men of the 
truest temper, of rare gifts, of subtile fascina- 
tion, whose coming is bright as daylight, and 
whose refining influence is a permanent benedic- 

Some of our readers may have seen the name 
of a young man of this kind who died not long 
ago in England — Julian J'ane. A memoir of 
him by his friend, liobert Lytton, better known, 
perhaps, by his author's name, Owen ^Meredith, 
was lately published, in which the simple tale of 
the wholly uneventful life of Mr. Fane is so well 
told that the character of the man himself is 
clearly conveyed, with the beautiful impression 
of his purity and grace, and some conception of 
that personal influence which Mr. Lytton truly 
calls ''incommunicable." " Yet," he adds, "the 
influence of these men upon the society they 
adorn is too beneficent to be altogether evanes- 
cent. Their presence animates and sustains 
whatever is loveliest in social life. Tbe world's 
dim and dusty atmosphere grows golden in the 
light of it. Their mere look rel)ukes vulgari- 
ty. Their conversation elevates the lowest and 
brightens the dullest theme. Their intellectual 
sympathy is often the unacknowledged begetter 
of other men's intellectual labor; and in the 
charm of their companionship we are conscious 
of tiiose benignant influences which tlie Gi^eeks 

called Graces, but which Christianity has con- 
verted into Charities." 

Juli an Fane was the son of a nobleman, the 
Eai •1 of Westmoreland, and he was born in 1827, 
at Florence, the "city of flowers," where his 
father was the British minister; nor was he in 
England until he was three years old. From 
the first there was the most intimate, affection- 
ate, and inspiring relation between Julian and 
his mother; nor did that lovely and beneficent 
friendship ever fail. Every year, upon her birth- 
day, he wrote to her sonnets of the utmost ten- 
derness and thoughtfulness, even to the anniver- 
sary which recurred but a very short time before 
his death. In 1841 his father went as minister 
to Prussia, and with his own fondness for music 
and art, and the singular charm of Lady West- 
moreland, the British legation became one of 
the most delightful houses in Berlin — "a sort 
of Continental Holland House,"says Mr. Lytton, 
"where Genius and Beauty, Science and Fash- 
ion, Literature and Politics, could meet each other 
with a hearty reciprocal welcome." Indeed, Hum- 
boldt, Mendelssohn, Meyerbeer, Ranch, INIagiuis, 
Begas, Hensel, were all frequent guests of that 
happy home. 

Among such influences the boy, sensitive to 
beauty of every form and degree, rapidly devel- 
oped. His musical instinct especially was ex- 
traordinary ; and while yet very young he played 
in the presence of Meyei bcer jjarts of one of ti;c 
composer's new operas which had been produced 
only the evening before, and of which he luul 
carefully concealed the score. He asked in great 
agitation who could have given the boy the mu- 
sic, and would not believe that it was played 
from memory after one hearing. When Julian 
was seventeen his father officially attached him 
to his embassy, and he tasted with every advan- 
tage every wholesome pleasure of the life of a 
great European capital. But in 184(J, when he 
was nineteen, he returned to England to fit for 
the university at Cambridge, which he entered 
in 1847. 

All his friends at Cambridge — and any man 
might be proud of them — break out into praises 
of him, like all the English historians when they 
mention Sidney. He came, an earl's son, of 
singular and winning beauty, which is not lost 
in the portrait published in the memoir, of un- 
usual accomi)lishment, speaking three foreign 
languages fluently, with the self-possession of 
such an experience of the best society in Europe 
as few men ever enjoy, but without the least 
pride or assumption or bumptiousness," a sim- 
ple, earnest, lofty-minded youth. He instinct- 
ively sought the best men, morally and intellect- 
ually. One of his most intimate friends was a 
sizar, a charity student, and a man of fine char- 
acter and cultivation. 

Fane was very tall, very graceful, and with a 
ready wit and constant i)lay of Innnor. Mr. 
Lytton, in personally describing him, savs : 
"His extraordinary mimetic power may be im- 
agined from the fart tliat he coidd, without the 
aid of voice or action, and solely by a rai)id vari- 
ation of physiognomy, conjiu-e up before the eyes 
of the most uninipre-^sionablc spectator the whole 
pageant and i)rogrcss of a thunder-storm. 1 have 



often watched liim perform this tour de force, 
and never without seeming to see before me, 
uith unmistakable distinctness, the hovering 
transit of hght and shadow over some calm pas- 
toral landscape on a summer's noon ; then the 
gradually gathering darkness in the heaven 
above, the sultry suspense of Nature's stifled 
pulc^e, the sudden flash, the sportive bickering 
])lay of the lightning, the boisterous descent of 
the rain, the slow subsidence of all the celestial 
tumult, the returning sunlight and blue air, the 
broad repose and steady gladness of the reno- 
vated fields, with their tinkling flocks and rainy 
flowers — the capacity of producing at will such 
effects as these by the mere working of a coun- 
tenance which Nature had carved in the calmest 
classic outlines, could only have resulted from a 
very rare correspondence between the intellectual 
and physical faculties : and it is no slight moral 
merit in the possessor of such gifts that he rarely 
exercised them at all, and never for the purpose 
of ungenerously ridiculing his fellow-creatures." 

There is universal testimony to this goodness 
of the man. Its gracious memory inspires every 
one who speaks of him. His familiar compan- 
ions were not manv, and like other men of a del- 
icate habit, he turned night into day. His in- 
terest in politics was strong, and he was inclined 
to philosophical studies, while his fondness for 
music and poetry was passionate. But all his 
friends felt in him chiefly the practical under- 
standing and grave sense of justice which were 
the solid basis of all his brilliancy. Leaving the 
university in 1850, he returned to Berlin, and 
the next year was transferred to Vienna, where 
he remained until 1855. In 1856 he was at- 
tached to Lord Clarendon's special mission to 
Paris, and in the same year he was made Sec- 
retary of Legation at St. Petersburg, Avhere he 
remained for two years, returning in 1858 to 
Vienna, where he remained until 18G5. It was 
during this time that Lytton was intimate with 
him, and his sketch of their life together is de- 
lightful. They were hard workers, for England 
requires labor of her young diplomatists, and Fane 
had withdrawn from what is called "society," 
but only for the greater pleasure of a small circle 
of friends. The works of Henry Heine deeply 
interested him, and he translated many of the 
smaller poems, and was always, doubtless, haunt- 
ed by the hope of a literary career. Plis liter- 
ary acquirements were very large and various, 
and always available. His was one of the cul- 
tivated minds which are like well-ordered arse- 
nals, where every weapon is in its place, and 
burnished and ready for instant use. How fine 
his poetic taste, and how remarkable his literary 
skill, the series of sonnets to his mother shows — 
a filial tribute of affection such as few mothers 
have ever received. He was modern in his svm- 
pathies, and although he was entirely familiar 
with the best older Englisli literature, he was 
very fond of Tennyson and Ruskin. But the 
allurements of poetry did not win him from the 
faithful pursuit of his diplomatic profession, in 
which he had a much higher consideration than 
rank ; and his professional memoirs and reports 
were of the highest character. 

In 18G0 he was secretary at Paris, and, al- 
though supposed to be a hopeless bachelor, he 
was suddenly betrothed and married to Lady 
Adine Cowper, with whom Lytton says that his 

life was of a felicity which any Greek philosopher 
would have deemed dangerously great. In the 
same year he resigned his post, and, to the sor- 
row and surprise of many of his friends, left the 
diplomatic profession. Mr. Lytton says that he 
felt that it w^as a career which could not satisfy 
his strongest moral and intellectual requirements, 
and would prove fatal to the development of 
powers which he perceived in himself. Doubt- 
less, also, he felt his hold upon life insecure, and 
his inclination to a literary career was shared by 
his wife. He returned to England, and seemed 
to rally. In 18(58 he took a house at Fotherin- 
gay, near to Apethorpe, the seat of the family, 
where his wife sank after the birth of a second 
child, and died. Pane was himself ill, and from 
that moment he drooped. In two years he suf- 
fered with a cruel illness, which yet could not 
touch his serene soul, and on the 18th of April, 
1870, "he was apparently free from all suffering 
save that of extreme debility. Midnight came. 
He told his servant to remove the candle from 
before his eyes, saying that he wished to sleep. 
The room was darkened ; he turned softly to his 
rest; and those that watched him withdrew into 
the next chamber in order not to disturb the 
sleeper. When, shortly afterward, his brother 
re-entered from the adjoining room to see if he 
were yet asleep, he was lying quite still, with a 
deep smile upon his face. He seemed to be (and 
was) in a sweet sound slumber. It was the 
slumber of death." 

Such was the eventless life of a man who has 
left a profound impression upon the best men 
who knew him. Mr. Vernon Harcourt, a gen- 
tleman who, as " Historicus," was deeply honored 
in this country, writes a letter about Fane which 
is full of interest. It is pleasant to read in it 
that "on the American civil war, which I have 
always regarded as the true touch-stone in our 
times of real liberal belief, his sympathies were 
wholly on the side of constitutional freedom," 
And Mr. Motley, the historian, Avho was the 
American minister at Vienna while Julian Fane 
was the English secretary there, says, "I never 
found any one out of America more unswerving 
in his belief and sympathy, or more intelligent 
and appreciative as to the causes and progress of 
that great conflict, than he was." Mr. Harcourt's 
last words of his friend are very touching : 
"That so finished and complete a man should 
have perished so untimely — that the world should 
know so little of that which is best and highest 
and most lovely in the midst of it, is not less sad 
because it is so common. You and I, my dear 

L , were among the few, the very few, to 

whom it was permitted to know all that Julian 
was ; and whatever else may come to us, it is 
a gift for which we shall always feel supremely 
grateful. If you are able in any degree to con- 
vey to others less fortunate a sense of that de- 
light which we have so often drunk in his com- 
panionship, you will have achieved a work well 
worthy of achievement, and 1 cordially bid you 
Godspeed, wishing that I had the power, as I 
have the will, to assist vou in it." 

Here was a man who passed unscathed the 
tremendous ordeal of pros})erity and praise and 
fascinated devotion, w ho cultivated carefully and 
to the best purpose his gifts of nature, and who, 
above all and through all, was a good man, and 
whose influence was always most elevating and 



purifying. He is a name only, and, unassociated 
with any conspicuous achievement, it is a name 
which will presently perish. But there have 
been few memoirs lately published which reveal 
a character so beautiful or a life more opulent 
in ennobling influences. 

The Easy Chair was amused and amazed the 
other day upon being told that it was unfriendly 
to the clerical profession. It was the more sur- 
prising, because it is often told that it preaches 
and proses, and makes itself a kind of pulpit at 
the back-door of the Magazine, so that the 
reader can not escape without a sermon. There 
is no doubt that most readers need the sermon, 
and they are at perfect liberty to choose their 
preacher. But if the Chair may honestly prefer 
any claim to the cloth, it is upon the ground of 
friendship for it. How often has it not exposed 
the real hardships of the clerical life, the enor- 
mous and various expectation, and the wretched 
remuneration ! The clergyman is expected to 
be both master and servant ; to be at every 
body's call for any purpose all the week, and on 
Sunday to be learned and eloquent, both in the 
morning and in the evening. If a parishioner 
strolls into church, and, arousing from his nap 
during the sermon, thinks that he recognizes 
some sentence that he has heard before, how 
wroth he is with a minister who is always 
preaching old sermons ! 

The recent jubilee at Mr. Beecher's church, in 
Brooklyn, was not only very beautiful and touch- 
ing, but it was a text for many meditations. 
With the immense growth of the press and the 
development of the lyceum in this country, the 
standard, both of expectation and of perform- 
ance, in all kinds of oratorical appeal, is swiftly 
raised. If you add the fact that the official dig- 
nity of the clerical profession necessarily de- 
clines Avhen men are measured not by the 
function, but by the manner in which it is dis- 
charged, many of the phenomena of clerical life 
are explained. The strict and universal eccle- 
siastical organization of the Roman Church, 
which no other has equaled, is rivaled in effect 
among the other churches by the social and 
£Esthetic appliances of another kind. There is 
now a tendency to a union of club life with the 
church organization. The church parlor, with 
all its resources, is the sign that the time de- 
mands something more than the solemn Sab- 
bath appeal. The old Puritan New England 
meeting-house, bare and cold and repulsive, in 
which comfort was a sin, and whose hard and 
straight pews and universal severity proclaimed 
that asceticism is itself a virtue, was hardly more 
different from the " mass house" than from the 
luxurious modern temple, with all its secular 

But the modern spirit is the true one, for it 
does not postpone religion to one day and to a 
gloomy place, but mingles it with the week and 
with the common details of life. The clergy- 
man is no more an austere and separate being, 
a part of a system, a functionary. He is not a 
lay figure, draped with respectable robes, nor 
reverend ex officio^ but he is tried as all other 
men are, and is powerful and influential as they 
are, only by the force of his own individuality. 
Of course this tends to make the profession a 
realitv. Intellect and character are the only 

vital personal forces ; and the eloquence which 
charms is no longer permanent in the ])ulpit if 
it be not sustained by character. The answer 
which was made for 'Pope Alexander, that he 
had done something not as pope, but as Rod- 
rigo Borgia, no longer avails. The rejoinder to 
that answer is now the controlling faith of soci- 
ety: "When Rodrigo Borgia goes to torment 
for that offense, what will become of Tope Alex- 
ander ?" The man is no longer separated from 
the priest. The new faith is that the goodness 
of the man is the power of the priest. 

And it is due to the same tendency that relig- 
ion is more and more felt to be a life, and not a 
ceremony or a creed. John Wesley's fancy that 
creeds were only the fashion of spiritual clothes, 
so to speak, is not a figure only, but a profound 
truth. The important fact is the substance — 
that is, clothes, not the fashion in which they 
are made, which is the creed. And nothing is 
more evident than the relaxation of rigorous sec- 
tarian lines. The difference between Mr. Beech- 
er's father in Bark Street Church, in Boston, 
half a century ago, and Mr. Beecher himself in 
his own Plymouth Church, in Brooklyn, to-day, 
is the most striking illustration of the change. 
The gain to the clergyman, both in influence and 
self-respect, is immense. He is honored not as 
a piece of a hierarchy and ceremonially, but for 
himself and actually. 

Naturally, also, this fact has two results : those 
who still hold by the old ceremonial tenure lose 
consideration ; and those who stand upon their 
own feet are proportionally honored. The cry 
of sensationalism in preaching comes mainly 
from the former. It means that which im- 
presses and attracts the multitude. But there 
is scarcely one great preacher to-day who is not, 
in a certain way, sensational. To use all the 
legitimate resources of the orator is to be sensa- 
tional ; and therefore all the famous orators of 
the church have been of this kind. Indeed, 
how can any man who believes that Christianity 
verified itself by miracles complain of sensation- 
alism in preaching? On the other hand, as the 
ceremony vanishes, and the reverend robes dis- 
appear, leaving the man below, he must b^ a man 
who stands firmly and squarely upon his feet, 
brave, clear-eyed, sincere, lofty, simple, devoted, 
or he will go with his clothes. AH men naturally 
follow a leader. But he must be a leader, and 
he must show that he is a leader. This is what 
the chiefs of sects have always done — Calvin, 
Pope Gregory, George Fox, John Wesley. The 
rule is now becoming universal. It is not enough 
to wear the badge of any of these, if you have not 
the character and the power which no badge can 

But the demands upon a clergyman, as we 
have often said, are excessive and unreasonable. 
To demand of a preacher two finished and admi- 
rable sermons every week is j)reposter()us. If, 
however, he chooses to preach them, and can 
preach them, nobody will complain. But to the 
critical, intelligent, trained, and thought fid au- 
dience of to-day a sermon must have .something 
of the quality of Bossuet's before the French 
court, or it will seem halting and vapid. Such 
sermons as were formerly accci)tal)le could not 
now satisfy. When, as in many Catliolic coun- 
tries, the mass of people depend upon the pulpit 
both for socular and for religious instruction, a 



plain, didactic homily is enough. But wlien the 
people are cultivated, quick, and perceptive ; 
when they read the best books, are familiar with I 
the i)rogress of scientific and moral speculation, 
and every week hear upon the lyceuni platform 
the most accomplished scholars and the trained 
masters of certain departments — the Sunday j 
preacher must not hope that he can charm 
them or hold them by any thing which is mere- 
ly perfunctory. Nor can he reply that the 
.Sunday object is worship and not instruction, 
for the modern church magnifies the sermon : 
and the sermon, not the prayer, is the real in- 

Preaching, indeed, is but a part of the clerical 
duty. The great ordinances of marriage and 
burial, and in general of what is called religious 
care, are attached to the clerical profession. 
But all these now depend upon character, and 
not upon the cloth. Even the Pope Alexander 
could not console the dying sinner who despised 
Kodrigo Borgia, And the law is universal. A 
l>erfiinctory consolation no self-respecting man 
would administer. True consolation, elevation, 
support, so far as they can proceed from another, 
proceed from character only. This was the 
moral of the beautiful festival at Plymouth 
Church. And as the clerical profession is ben- 
eficially powerful in the degree that it is not 
ceremonial merely, and as this is the plain tend- 
ency of the time, how could the Easy Chair 
that thinks so be in any just sense indifferent or 
unfriendly toward it ? 

The pleasure of Mr. Easy Chair's company 
was lately requested at what was called "a 
child's hop," and Mr. Easy Chair accepted the 
invitation with very great satisfaction. He had 
some knowledge of children, and a great deal of 
love for them. Pie knew that it is their nature 
to hop and to run and to shout and to rejoice, 
and he repaired to the proper place at the hour 
named. That hour, indeed, was suspicious, for 
it was eight o'clock, and that is very nearly the 
hour when most children should be going to bed. 
Mr. Easy Chair found the room brilliantly light- 
ed, and decorated with beautiful flowers ; and 
presently the guests began to assemble. There 
were, first of all, a party of ladies and gentlemen 
in full dress, and then a larger party of very 
much smaller ladies and gentlemen in the same 
general kind of magnificence. Indeed, there was 
an extravagance of costliness and richness in the 
dresses of the smaller people which caused Mr. 
Easy Chair to suppose them to belong to some 
imperial or royal embassy lately arrived from 

He therefore presently turned and asked a 
neighbor of his own size when the children might 
be expected to appear. And to his amazement, 
he received a look of astonishment and no an- 

"But I pray you, madame, who are these 
wonderfully dressed small peojjle whose costume 
is a grotesque reproduction of yours and that of 
the other ladies ? and who in particular is that re- 
markable little figure with a fan in her hand, and 
simpering to the Jittle fellow in velvet beside her ? 
Are they indeed princes and princesses of Lil- 
liput?" ' 

"That is my daughter, Sir," was the reply of 
Mr. Easy Chair's neighbor, glaring at him, as it 

were, and sweeping away with a rustling dignity 
that was withering. 

Then it was exjjlained. These elaboratel}' 
dressed little people were the children who were 
to hoj). Futile expectation ! Mr. Easy Chair 
might as well have expected to see his grand- 
mother hop at the age of ninety. These superb 
small people did only what their elders would 
have done. They looked at each other's fine 
dresses and displayed their own. Those who 
had not necklaces envied those who had. The 
boys who were fairly out of the nursery had an 
air of grave seniority that was jjrofoundly de- 
pressing. There were even signs of ennui, as if 
dancing were very well for those who were still 
young. And bj'-and-by there was supper, and 
truly it was splendid. Then more dancing; and 
later, at Mr. Easy Chair knows not what hour, 
there was the gay confusion of departure, and 
the pretty parody was over. 

It Avas certainly pretty, but it was a very sober 
spectacle. Children are naturally gay, and they 
frolic and dance and romp with a will. But 
childhood seemed to have been eliminated from 
these little folks. Thev were sallow and anx- 
ious and worn. And how stupid and sleepy 
they must have been next morning ! And how 
unwillingly, with no shining morning face, they 
must have crept to school ! And what poor lit- 
tle abused bodies thev are, and how surelv the 
freshness and charm of life are being destroyed 
for them! Yet, Mrs. Ad sends her children, 
and what can Mrs. Bad, Cad, and Dad do but 
send theirs? And if Mrs. Thompson's daughter 
has a silk dress caught up and flounced with lace 
and flowers, I know, my dear, that you do not 
wish to have your daughter disgraced, and I 
take care that our dear girl shall be as splendid 
as any of them ! 

These are the lessons that the children learn, 
and in turn, as parents, teach. And it is curi- 
ous that the American theory of every body's 
being as good as any body has this perversion, 
that every body must dress and do as any body 
does. Every bodv who vields to the mania of 
extravagance for children makes it harder for 
every body else not to yield. But there is no 
use in preaching about it, if only the pleasure 
of your company is requested at a child's hop. 
Then you see for yourself. There is nothing 
more melanchoh' than such a spectacle at a 
watering-place hotel. The forward rudeness of 
the poor little overdressed figures is ])itiful. 
The sweet modestv of childhood, the bieezv 
bloom of health upon the cheek, the plain, sim- 
ple dress, the artless ardor of joy — all tliat is 
loveliest in the lovely age is wanting at the 
child's hop. 

Mr. Easy Chair sought the neighbor of whom 
he had asked information, and said to her: 
" Madame, who is responsible for all tliis ?"' But 
she eluded him with terror, as if he had been a 
maniac. Yes, she really fled before the terror 
of hearing, " Thou art the woman, " For tliat is 
the answer to the question. Every parent who 
fosters this kind of extravagance steals the 
bloom from her ciiild's cheek and the freshness 
from her heart and the charm from her life. 
The one question of her destiny becomes, "Who 
can give me jiearls and fine dresses, equipages 
and a sjjlendid house?"'. As Mr. Easy Chair 
gazed at the melancholy scene he recalled the 



bitterness of Swift and of Carlyle. The unutter- 
able anguish of Carlvle, his stormv and Titanic 

CD v ' a; 

contempt, are due to his clear perception of the 
fact tliat the misery could be so easily avoided. 
If it were fate, he could be as calm as the Greek. 
But his feeling is rage that we who might so 
easily make the world a heaven, choose to make 
it a hell. "In the fear of the Lord," said an 
old preacher, fervently — "train up your child in 
the fear of the Lord, and then he will make the 
devil and all his angels feiir him." 

Ml'. Easy Chair was about saying something 
of the kind to the mother of the most extrava- 
gant little person in the room, when he saw her 
precipitately escaping. 

The arrival from England of Mr. Froude, of 
Professor Tyndall, of JVIr. George Macdonald, 
and of Mr. Edmund Yates, to lecture in this 
country during the winter, only shows how the 
lyceum, Avhich was so often thought to be a 
transient popular fancy, has become a fixed pop- 
ular institution. There are no names more emi- 
nent in contemporary literature and science than 
those of Mr. Froude and of Mr. Tyndall, and 
Mr. Macdonald and Mr. Yates come to America 
to find multitudes of friends awaiting them. 

The themes of the lecture svstem in this coun- 
try are various and amusing. The fact is that 
it is a new and eclectic form of popular enter- 
tainment. For som'^ vears courses of lectures 
by the same speaker, or, indeed, by ditferent 
speakers, have not been well sustained in some 
of the larger cities, excejjt when the lecturer was 
a ])erson of great fame. The old course of grave 
literary lectures was modified for some time be- 
fore the war by the introduction of politics, or 

rather of political morality, as a topic. Since 
the war it has been farther changed by a large 
infusion of the purely humorous element; and at 
present the great and most successful courses — 
the "star" courses, as they are called — in the 
chief cities comj)rise lectures of every kind, lit- 
erary, scientific, ])olitical, iiumorous, with read- 
ings of every kind, concerts, and even dramatic 
performances. A ^Vestern paper says that the 
lyceum is now a system of strolling players for 
the amusement of the country. It says so de- 
risively. But if Froude and Tvndall, and Beech- 
er and rhillijis, and Anna Dickinson and Mrs. 
Stowe, and Theodore 'I'homas's orchestra and 
Rubinstein, are the stock company, the strolling 
players are perhaps likely to be of some service 
to the country. 

The old sarcasm was that they were peripatetic 
philosophers, lay circuit riders, vagabonds, who 
declaimed articles from the encyclopedia to won- 
dering rural audiences, and were exceedingly 
overpaid. That, indeed, seemed to be a peculiar 
grievance. But who that heard the dear vaga- 
bond Thackeray, or listened to the Christnuis 
chimes ringing from the tongue of Dickens, or 
saw the aboriginal glacier with Agassiz, but 
counts the event among the happiest, in its kind, 
of his life ? It is as well to call them strollers as 
by any other name. But over that platform are 
likely to stroll many of the famous men and 
women Avho have made themselves our friends 
before we see them, and with whom we thus have 
a personal association forever. And it is not the 
least valuable or significant fact in the history of 
that platform that it is likely to attract sucli men 
as England has now sent to us, and who have 
been everv where most kindlv welcomed. 

(0Mtar'ri litcrnri} lUrurii. 


THERE are, we trust, a great many who will 
become acquainted with the life and char- 
acter of Michael Faraday through Mr. J. II. 
Gladstone's little book, Michael Faradarj (Har- 
per and Brothers), who would be deterred from 
attempting the larger biography by Dr. Bence 
Jones. The volume befoi e us is a small one of 
220 pages, and is divided into five chapters, or 
sections, containing respectively "the story of 
his life," a " study of his character," the " fruits 
of his experience," " his method of writing," and 
a consideration of " the value of his discoveries," 
There are manv considerations which make the 
life of this great and good man a worthy sub- 
ject of study, and cause us to congratulate our 
readers that it is thus put within the reach of 
every one. What Sir Humi)hrey Davy told 
young Faraday echoes the popular impression 
respecting science — "She is a harsh mistress, 
and in a pecuniary point of view but poorly re- 
wards those who devote themselves to her serv- 
ice." Yet Michael Faraday, who commenced 
life as an errand-boy, and who throughout life 
depended on his own exertions for his daily 
breads by his assiduity, earnestness, and single- 
heartedness of aim, climl)cd from the lowest 
round as a laboratory assistant to the highest. 

the superintendent of house and laboratory, with 
the subsequent offer, declined, of the presidency of 
the Royal Society, and by his simjile and temper- 
ate habits reserving time sufiicient for those inves- 
tigations and experinients in science which ])lace 
him among the leaders in the scientific world. 
We have no desire to underrate a classical and 
collegiate education, yet the life of jMichael Fara- 
day is an inspiration to every man who in his 
youth has been denied the privilege of the high- 
est and best culture, and yet whose matured 
tastes all tend toward scholarship. One of the 
ablest geologists of England, Hugh Miller, Avas 
a stone-mason ; the ablest of modern geogra- 
phers. Dr. Livingstone, was a factory hand ; one 
of the ablest linguists of the age, Elihu liun itt, 
was a blacksmith ; and one of the chief scientists 
of this scientific age, Michael Faraday, was a 
bookseller's errand-boy, who never had any ac- 
quaintance with f J reek, but depended on friends 
for the nomenclature of his chemical substances, 
and yet, though he never passed through a uni- 
versity, was made a member of the Senate of the 
University of London. He combined in a re- 
markable' degree the skepticism of the man of 
science and the faith of the hinnhle Christian. 
The scientist is almost of necessity a skcjitic. It 
is his business to doubt, and, doubting, to test, 



try, investigate. As a scientist Michael Faraday 
was peculiarly skeptical. " lf,''says he, " Grove, 
or Wheatstone, or Gassiot, or any other, told me 
of a new fact, and wanted my opinion eitiier of 
its value, or the cause, or the aid it could give 
on any subject, I never could say any thing until 
I had seen the fact. He was thus a constant 
ex])enmenter, relied wholly on personal observa- 
tion, never on the testimony of others ; and yet, 
along with tins intense determination to base 
every scientific conclusion on actual and ob- 
served trial, was a simple and single-hearted 
faith in God and Divine truth. Michael Fara- 
day was throughout his life a member of the 
Sandemanian Church, a simple Scotch sect of 
Congregationalists, during most of his life an 
elder, and he frequently preached on the Sabbath. 
He was not only intensely conscientious, he was 
sincerely and simply devout, a man of prayer, a 
lover of Scripture, which he quoted frequently 
and fluently, and a firm believer in Divine Prov- 
idence. Apart from these isolated facts and 
traits, which bear their own peculiar lesson, Mi- 
chael Faraday was a man so genial, so quiet, so 
faithful to truth and duty, so assiduous, so reso- 
lute in the pursuit of his single aim in life, so 
truly great and good in the highest and best sense 
of the term, that it does one good to become ac- 
quainted with him, and the reader rises from the 
perusal of this little volume inspired with a new 
purpose to achieve, by the same habits of tem- 
perance and industry, and by the same virtues 
of simplicity, sincerity, and single-heartedness, 
a success in his chosen life, whatever that life 
may chance to be. 

William L. Stone embodies in one handsome 
volume of over seven hundred pages the History 
of New York City from theDiscovery to the Pres- 
ent Day (Virtue and Yorston). This history is 
divided into three periods : the first, the era of 
the Dutch possession ; the second, the era of En- 
glish possession, ending with the evacuation of 
the city in 1 783 ; the third, the history of the 
American metropolis from that time to the pres- 
ent day. The volume is handsomely illustrated 
with twenty engravings on steel, including por- 
traits of several prominent governors of the 
State and generals in the American army, and 
with over eighty wood-engravings. These last 
aftbrd in themselves a curious illustration of the 
progress of history. The pen could not possibly 
describe the changes which two centuries have 
produced as graphically as the artist has done 
by reproducing in fac-simile a view of the city 
of New Amsterdam as it appeared toward the 
middle of the seventeenth century, at which time 
it contained a hundred and twenty houses and 
one thousand inhabitants ; nor is the contrast 
less striking which is afforded by a comparison 
of some of the public buildings of even half a 
century ago with those of to-day, or Fulton's 
first steamboat, the Clermont, with the Thomas 
Powell of to-day. Mr. Stone has had access to 
much original material never before published, 
embracing reported conversations with such men 
as Aaron Burr, Chancellor Livingston, John Jay, 
Robert IMorris, and Josiah Ogden Hoffman. His 
pages give unmistakable evidence that he has 
been careful and conscientious in the examina- 
tion of every question, and fearless in the ex- 
pression of the results to which his investigations 
have led him. He does not hesitate, for instance, 

to deny to Hendrick Hudson the credit of being 
the first to land on the island of Manhattan, and 
impugns the claim of Robert Fulton to be the 
inventor of the steamboat. Thus, while his vol- 
ume is written in a style whose simplicity and 
perspicuity will render it attractive to the gen- 
, eral reader, it can also hardly fail to be regard- 
ed as a standard history of the city by the stu- 
; dent. We dare not open the book and attempt 
I here to trace the thread of the marvelous changes 
j which in two centuries have transformed Man- 
hattan Island from a wilderness to a metropolis ; 
but no reader, we think, can peruse this story 
' and sigh for the good old times, or doubt that 
I this city is, upon the whole, better governed than 
I it was seventy, or even fifty years ago, and that 
j in proportion to its size it possesses a larger 
measure of intelligence, virtue, and liberality. 
The volume practically closes with an account 
of the overthrow of the "Ring" in 1871, a hope- 
j ful consummation of a history which, though 
' marred by corruption and crime, is nevertheless 
j one of the most striking and brilliant of all the 
1 remarkable records of municipal progress and 

We receive from Chase and Town nine 
months' numbers of an illustrated magazine en- 
titled The American Historical Record and lle- 
pertory of Notes or Queries, edited by Benson 
J. LossiNG. We speak of it as a magazine, 
because it is issued in monthly numbers, and is 
apparently intended to be continued as a perma- 
nent monthly publication ; but it is otherwise, 
to all intents and purposes, a volume issued in 
monthly parts. There is no man in the coun- 
try, perhaps, better fitted to edit such a work 
than Mr. Lossing. He is an enthusiastic inves- 
tigator of history; he has traveled much and 
read much, always with a keen appetite for his- 
torical disclosures ; he is also an excellent art- 
ist ; and these numbers are very rich in narra- 
tives and documents gathered from family ar- 
chives and recollections which otherwise would 
never probably have seen the light. 


We have so recently had occasion to speak of 
Sir Charles Lyell's "Elements of Geology" 
that it hardly seems necessary, in calling attention 
to the eleventh edition of his Principles of Geolo- 
gy (D. Appleton and Co.), to speak at length of 
those traits of his character which make him, in 
our opinion, the most trustworthy of all modern 
writers on science. Unlike most of his contem- 
poraries, he has no theories to advocate ; his mind 
is eminently judicial, his work is that of an inves- 
tigator, his interest appears to be aroused cliiefl}' 
to ascertain what are the facts of nature, and he 
records them with an impartial and supreme in- 
difference respecting their effect upon the con- 
flicting dogmas of contending schools. We in- 
stinctively turn, therefore, to see what in the 
latest additions to this standard work Sir Charles 
Lyell has to say in regard to the recent discus- 
sions respecting the origin and geographical dis- 
tribution of the races of men. From the debates 
of such writers as Darwin, Biichner, INIivart, and 
Wallace we turn to the calm and impartial sum- 
ming up of Sir Charles Lyell with a feeling of 
relief akin to that experienced by the jurv^at the 
end of a long and perplexing trial, when the 
counsel have concluded their forensic displays 



and the judge rises to deliver his charge. Sir 
Charles Lyell shows that "hunting acts as a 
principle of repulsion, causing men to spread 
with the greatest rapidity over a country until 
the whole is covered with scattered settlements." 
He gives illustrations from history of accidental 
journeyings by savages in their canoes, drifting 
through the sea distances varying from two hun- 
dred to fifteen hundred miles ; and he draws the 
conclusion that if the whole of mankind, with the 
exception of a single family, were now cut off, we 
might expect their descendants "to spread in the 
course of ages over the whole earth, diffused part- 
ly by the tendency of population to increase in a 
limited district beyond the means of subsistence, 
and partly by the accidental drifting of canoes 
by tides and currents to distant shores." He 
concludes that it is reasonable to infer that the 
whole human race has spread from a single start- 
ing-point, but asserts that "it does not follow that 
all are descendants of a single pair ; " gives a quali- 
fied indorsement to the opinion of Professor Agas- 
siz that the great divisions of the human race pos- 
sess each a distinct parentage ; regards it as es- 
tablished that man lived upon the earth at a pe- 
riod far anterior to that indicated in the Scriptur- 
al account of the creation, and that it has risen 
from a lower to a higher state of civilization, its 
earlier stages being those of a rude barbarism. 
He admirably though concisely states some of 
the criticisms of Mr. Wallace, Mr. Mivart, and 
the Duke of Argyle on Mr. Darwin's theory of 
"natural selection," and after giving considera- 
ble weight to them, and making some abatement 
from Mr. Darwin's theories in consequence, con- 
cludes that Mr. Darwin, without absolutely prov- 
ing, has made it appear in the highest degree 
probable that the changes of the organic world 
may have been effected by the gradual, insensi- 
ble modification of older pre-existing forms, while 
he strongly protests that " the amount of power, 
wisdom, design, and forethought required for such 
a gradual evolution of life is as great as that which 
is implied by a multitude of separate, special, and 
miraculous acts of creation." Finallv, he uncon- 
sciously affords an admirable portraiture of his 
own spirit in the following fine description of the 
spirit which should always, but does not always, 
actuate the scientists : " It is by faithfully weigh- 
ing evidence, without regard to preconceived no- 
tions, by earnestly and patiently searching for 
what is true, not what we wish to be true, that 
we have attained that dignity which we may in 
vain hope to claim through the rank of an ideal 


Hope iJpferred, by Eliza. F. Pollard (Har- 
per and Jirothers), is, as its title indicates, a 
mournful story; but it is not meaningless, nor 
is its moral uimeeded at the present day. It is 
a healthful indication that the philosophy which 
advocates low and loose ideas of the marriage 
tie, and the right of man and wife to separate 
whenever either imagines that a mistaken affec- 
tion has led to the marriage, or that love, though 
once genuine, has grown cold, finds no represen- 
tation and no advocate in the modern romance. 
Criticise the novel of the period as we may, and 
question as we may the practice of novel-i'ead- 
ing, this much is certain, that the most popular 
novels are those which best represent the higher 
types of character, and the best and noblest sen- 

timents triumphant in time of trial. If modern 
society were inclined to believe that a ])ure and 
j true love demanded a free divorce, we should 
[ find this demand interpreted in at least some 
j modern novels ; whereas, in fact, the most com- 
mon lesson of the most popular modern novels 
is fidelity to the marriage vow when once pro- 
j nounced. In this story there is nothing in the 
j character of Marietta, nothing even in her pas- 
sionate but jealous love, to bind her unhappy hus- 
band to her. If ever uncongeniality of tempera- 
ment justifies a divorce, it would be justified in 
the case of Charles and his Roman wife. Yet 
even the most determined apostle of the [)hiloso- 
phy of licentiousness, miscalled free love, could 
hardly withhold an involuntary homage to the 
fidelity with which the husband adheres to his 
marriage vow, and, living in the constant sight 
and companionship of the one who alone pos- 
sesses his heart, yet schools not only his conduct 
to bring no dishonor either upon her or upon 
himself, but his heart itself to do his ow^n wife no 
injury. So long as the universal feeling of hu- 
manity answers with its amen to such a repre- 
sentation of love and marriage, and maintains 
the rights and duties that spring from it, we may 
rest reasonably sure that false philosophy has not 
succeeded in undermining the foundations of true 
love and the home life. 

The Vicar s Daughter, by George Macdon- 
ALD (Roberts Brothers), is not so striking a story 
as "Wilfred Cumbermede, " and may not com- 
mand so large a circle of readers, but it is in 
every sense a better story. It is complete in its 
structure, unmarred by any melodramatic epi- 
sodes, is free from the portrayal of moi bid feel- 
ing, and both as a story and as a picture of life 
and character is not unnatural. It is announced 
as a sequel to the "Annals of a Quiet Neighbor- 
hood" and the " Sea-board Parish." Ethelwyn 
Walton marries an artist and goes to London to 
live, and the story is the record of her life there. 
The most striking, if not the central, figure of 
the story is Miss Clare. Critics who imagine 
that a novel must only describe the jjracticable 
will object that it is not the thing for Christian 
young ladies to choose the haunts of vice for 
their homes for the sake of exercising a Chris- 
tian influence on the vicious, which is very true. 
Nevertheless, Miss Clare's home and work, though 
it represents an impossible ideal, represents 
through it the spiiit of true Christian work 
among the outcast, and so is healthful and be- 
neficent. The novel is not a great one, and in 
an artistic point of view will not add to George 
Macdonald's reputation ; but it. is a good one, 
and is to our thought quite as interesting as its 
more pretentious predecessor, "Wilfred Cum- 

No one will pronounce that verdict ujion 
Herman Af/ha (Holt and Williams). Two ele- 
ments of interest in this story will attract two 
very difi'erent classes of readers. It is emphat- 
ically a romance. Its scene is laid in the East, 
the land of romance. The reader is not i)cr- 
plexed by any skejjticism respecting the ])ossi- 
bility of its incidents or the naturalness of its 
characters, since in the land of the Arabian 
Nights nothing is iinpossiljle, nothing is unnat- 
ural. The author, indeed, asserts in his j)reface 
that his story "is not fiction, but reality; not 
[ invention, but narration." If we accept this 



statement as sim])le and unalloyed truth, the 
adventures of Herman Aglia atlord a new and 
striking illustration of the old adage that " truth 
is stranger than fiction." Love and war, assas- 
sination and ahduction, are among the threads 
tliat are woven into this life fabric. But it is 
not only the novel-readers who will find interest 
in this romance. Its author, Mr, W. G. Val- 
GRAVE, has made a study of the East, and his 
work on Arabia is the standaid authority to 
which all scholars defer. Whatever may be 
thought of the drama, the accessories are un- 
questionably admirable. The manners and cus- 
toms of the people, the tyranny of government, 
the greed of rulers, the degradation of the mass- 
es, the bravery and fidelity of the Bedouins — in 
a word, the social and political civilization of the 
East, are admirably painted by one who uses his 
imagination only to portray in life-like form the 
results of careful and painstaking observation. 
— In the Jind of the World (Orange Judd and 
Co.) JNIr. Eggleston introduces his readers to 
the same general scenes and the same style of 
characters which give to the " Hoosier School- 
master" its peculiar freshness. There is no little 
vigor displayed in the portraiture of some of the 
characters, which are drawn somewhat roughly 
withal, but powerfully, and the writer has stud- 
ied, possibly unconsciously, the vernacular with 
which he so plentifully fills his dialogue, and 
which is well represented. But the charm of 
the "Hoosier School-master" was in its fresh- 
ness ; it was interesting because it opened to the 
American a new world, rather than because that 
world had, except in its novelty, any peculiar 
charm ; and if, as we understand is the case, j\Ir. 
Eggleston has laid down the editorial pen to de- 
vote himself to romance-writing, we hope that 
in his next volume he will strike a new vein. 
This is a somewhat narrow one, and it will not 
bear much more working, — The Eustace Dia- 
monds (Harper and Brothers) will rank as one 
of Anthony Trollope's best novels. It is, of 
course, thoroughly English, as most of Trollope's 
novels are, but it is more original in plot than 
many of them. The chief defect in the book is 
the fact that there are no characters in it which 
thoroughly secure the reader's sympathies, unless 
it be Lady Fawn and Lucy Morris, and of these 
the one is not very prominent, and the other is 
certainly rather weak. It is quite the fashion 
lately to make the " villain" of the story a woman, 
and Anthony Trollope has adopted the fashion. 
But Lizzie Eustace is not at all an unnatural 
villain, hardly an unwomanly villain, though she 
commits perjury, and comes very near commit- 
ting theft ; she is only a very natural embodiment 
of feminine selfishness, pride, vanity, and self- 
will, when restrained neither by scruples nor by 
an intelligent appreciation of the consequences 
of wrong-doing. She is, indeed, quite the peer 
of Becky Sharpe, though a totally different sort 
of character. Indeed, we do not now think of 
any of Trollope's novels in which the charac- 
terization surpasses in vigor of drawing that 
of this his latest work. — Marjories Quest (J. R. 
Osgood and Co.) opens well, and promises in 
the outset to be an unusually good novel. But 
the writer falls into the temi)tation common to 
all novel-writers, displays more ingenuity, as ihe 
story proceeds, in the construction of an intricate 
and involved plot than in the elucidation of char- 

I acter, and loses her hold on our mind before 
the volume ends by the unnaturalness of the in- 
cidents, or, rather, of their concurrence in the 
story. Jeanie T. Gould has quite too much 
real ability to be under any necessity of resort- 
ing to the somewhat stale artifices of the play- 
wrights which mar the artistic value of the last 
half of her story, which is nevertheless interest- 
ing, not because of the plot, but in spite of it. — 
"We need not say that there are few story-tell- 
ers more charming than Miss Mulock, but we 
confess ourselves surprised at the imagination 
which shines and sparkles and plays in the Ad- 
ventures of a Brownie (Harper and Brothers), 
and makes it the most delightful of fairy stories 
for the children. "As told to my child," she 
describes this fairy tale in the title-page. She 
deserves a large circle of childish listeners, and 
it will be very strange if she does not have it. 
"A brownie is a sober stay-at-home household 
elf" — a mythical creature, more mischievous 
than malicious — a little old man about a foot 
high, all dressed in brown, with a brown face 
and hands, and a brown peaked cap just the col- 
or of a brown mouse ; and a very jolly fellow he 
is to have in a household, in spite of some occa- 
sionally inconvenient antics, which are generally- 
played oflf on people who deserve some disci])line 
for their ill humor, or their slovenly habits and 
careless ways, or for some of the petty vices which 
awaken the righteous indignation of the virtuous 
brownie, who "never does any body any harm 
unless they deserve it." — Here, too, is another 
collection of fairy stories almost as charming. 
Is It True ? (Harper and Brothers), a new vol- 
ume in Miss Mulock's series of "Books for 
Girls," pretty in conception, and made prettier 
in the telling, with "a clear thread of right and 
wrong running through it," and well woven in, 
so that thevouthful reader will be tolerablv sure 
to get the moral in the story, not to skip a moral 
which has been appended to it. This whole se- 
ries is to be warmly commended, and makes an 
admirable little folks' library ; and that depart- 
ment ought to occupy no small proportion of the 
book-shelves of every household. 


Charles Nordhoff is a "newspaper man," 
and possesses the newspaper genius — that is, he 
understands what people want to know, and how 
to select out of abundant material the right top- 
ics ; and how, in treating those topics, to deal 
not with the themes on which it is easiest to write, 
but with those on ^^•hich information is really need- 
ed. Hence his California : for Health, Pleas- 
ure, and Residence (Harper and Brothers), is a 
book both of rare profit and of rare interest. 
There has been a great deal of writing about 
"riding on the rail," but his chapter on "the 
Avay out" is the first account we have fallen on, 
brief, succinct, clear, that really tells a stranger 
what a Pullman car is, how it is constructed, 
and how the running of the Pullman cars is ar- 
ranged. So in his chapter on Salt Lake City, 
instead of giving us his i)hilosophy about ISIor- 
monism, he looks with a ]iractical eye at the 
country and the people. "The soil, though 
good, is full of stones, and 1 saw a terrace gar- 
den of about three acres buiit up against the hill- 
side, which must have cost ten or twelve thou- 
sand dollars to prepare." We read with sur- 



prise his statement that "we Americans have 
too much to do to spend our time in boasting ; " 
but before we finished his chapter on the Cen- 
tral Pacific Raih-oad we conceded that he had 
made out his case. The whole story of the proc- 
ess of its construction is condensed into a sin- 
gle chapter, which is crowded with information 
such as must have cost no little trouble to ac- 
quire, but it is told so easily and simply that it 
costs no labor to understand. Books of this 
sort are usually marred by one of two faults. 
On the one hand we have the work of the prac- 
tical man ; he tells you of agricultural products 
and rain-fall and geological formation and min- 
eral wealth and population ; he embodies the in- 
formation of the gazetteers in a volume which 
is dull, and which, therefore, has the reputation 
of being learned. Or we get the product of an 
ordinary newspaper correspondent, who sees what 
is on the surface and puts it down ; who writes 
in grandiloquent terms of the scenery of the Cen- 
tral Pacific Railroad, but knows nothing of its 
history ; who inveighs in general terms against 
]\Iormonism, but does not understand its prac- 
tical workings and industries and daily life ; who 
talks in a general way of the luxury of modern 
travel, but leaves you as ignorant as before re- 
specting the nature of a hotel car. Mr. Nordhotf 
has succeeded in learning those facts which the 
people are interested to know, and in putting 
them in an interesting form. He gives detailed 
directions to the tourist how to make his tour 
comfortable; gives three schedules of three dif- 
ferent tours ; tells you the cost ; gives you some 
pictures, well drawn, with pen and pencil, of the 
scenery on the way ; carries you into the Chi- 
nese quarters, and introduces you to "John" 
at his theatre ; gives you an admirable sketch of 
gold mining. But our space forbids our giving a 
table of contents, and still more our describing 
in detail the features of this admirable book of 
travel. We can only say that it is very nearly 
an ideal traveler's guide for the American tour- 
ist, while its entertaining style and its numerous 
and very handsome illustrations make it equally 
attractive to that great body of Americans who 
can only see California through the eyes of an- 
other. — Rev. Elox Foster would have produced 
a book of larger usefulness if he had given to his 
Neio Cijclopedia of Poetical Illustrations (W. L. 
Palmer, Jun., and Co.) a broader scope, and 
made the room for a greater variety of topics by 
giving shorter selections. Ilis book professes to 
be exclusively adapted to "Christian teaching," 
and for the pulpit and the Sabbath-school it can 
hardly fiiil to serve a useful purpose ; yet it must 
be very rare that a preacher is justified in quot- 
ing poems of ten or twelve stanzas, and of such 
poems there is quite too large a proportion in 
this volume. Under the title " Despair" is given 
the whole of Hood's poem, " One more Unfortu- 
nate;" and under the title "Creation" a (juota- 
tion of two pages and a half from Milton. The 
work of an editor requires rare power of self-de- 
nial : he must be willing to reject much that is 
good in order to make room for some things that 
are better. The defects of Mr, Foster's work re- 
sult from an embarrassment of riches ; and to 
those whose libraries contain few or no other po- 
etical collections, and who desire a book which 
shall supply them at once with poetry for their 
own reading, and with quotations topically ar- 

ranged for their work, this book can not fail to 
prove valuable. The true test of such a work 
is in months of use ; it is a tool, and must be 
tried before a thoroughly trustworthy judgment 
can be ])ronounced upon it. The critic can not 
really tell what it is ; he can only tell what it ap- 
j)ears to be. So far as we can judge, not from 
use, but only from an examination of the book, 
its topics are wisely selected and its quotations 
are well classified ; and its usefulness is materi- 
ally enhanced by the two indexes, that of topics, 
and that of lines and authors, which are ap])end- 
ed to the volume. — That gardening is a lovely 
thing we always believed, and that faith has been 
intensified by reading Anna Warnkk's Garde.n- 
inrj by Mtjseff (A. D. F. Randolph and Co.) ; that 
it is an easy thing we never believed before, and 
we confess to a grain of skepticism even now. 
However, among many comjjetitors. Miss Warner 
certainly carries off the palm. Her book is ex- 
plicit and simple in its directions, does not as- 
sume in the reader a knowledge which comes 
only of much experience, nor discourage him or 
her by building impracticable air-gardens impos- 
sible to realize. It is, in a word, a book of prac- 
tical directions concerning practicable achieve- 
ments ; and we can give it no higher encomium 
than to say that, having been quite disheartened 
from gardening by previous books, we are going 
to begin straightway after reading this to do 
soma gardening by ourselves, with a sanguine 
hope of really accomplishing something. — We 
hardly know what estimate to put upon Sound- 
ings^ by LiDB Merriwether (13oyle and Cha})- 
man, Memphis). It is an attempt to awaken 
sympathy for the class of "lost women" by 
means of a series of what purports to be true 
stories of their experiences of temptation and 
fall, and of their redemption from sin and 
shame. The stories are simple, and have the 
air of truthfulness ; there is not the most dis- 
tant approximation to sensationalism on the one 
hand, or sentimentalism on the other; and the 
purest heart can find in them no occasion for a 
blush, the impurest nothing to feed a sensual 
imagination. Yet underlying them is the false 
philosophy common to nearly all similar praise- 
worthy attempts to induce our Christian charity 
to embrace those who become the most degraded, 
and who therefore most need it. Carefid inves- 
tigations into the causes of woman's degradation 
do not justify the belief that her sin and shame 
are generally any thing other than the fruit of 
her own willful wrong-doing. The attcmi)t to i)al- 
liate the fatal sin, which not only destroys repu- 
tation, but also makes a wreck of character, is, 
and always must be, a failure, and the attempt 
by practical philanthropy to rescue from a life 
of iniquity those who have given themselves up 
to it does not confirm the theory of the story- 
tellers that they are vainly striving against social 
contempt and aversion to csca])C fri)m tlie toils 
with which they are entangled. On the con- 
trary, the percentage that can be induced by 
kindness and conciliation to give up the strange- 
ly fascinating life of sin for oiie of industry and 
virtue, even when the path is opened tiicreto, is 
sadly small. The lost ones are entitled to our 
Christian sympathies, not, however, as unfortu- 
nates, but as sinners; nor will Christian love 
really acconqilish nnuh for their rescue till it 
gives up wholly the sentimental conception of 



abandoned women as unhappy victims whose 
aspirations toward virtue are denied by society 
and crusiied by a remorseless contempt, and 
treats them as truly lost, and needing not only 
to have the paths of virtue opened, but also the 
aspirations to virtue awakened in their souls. — 
Between the years 18150 and 18G5 Professor 
Tyxdall and Mr. Edward WhYxAIPeu vied 
with each other in an attempt to reach the sum- 
mit of the Matterhorn — a peak of the Alps which 
had before been regarded as inaccessible, and was 
by the imagination of the superstitious peasantry 
j)eopled with demons, who, it was confidently as- 
serted, would be sure to take due vengeance on 
any mortal bold enough to invade their domin- 
ions. The Wandering Jew was supposed to have 
his home in this desolate peak, and a ruined 
city of demons to cover its summit. This su- 
pernatural terror was not, however, to deter 
adventurous travelers from attempting to scale 
this peak, which is nearly 15,000 feet high, and 
rises abruptly by a series of cliffs which may 
properly be called precipices nearly a mile above 
the glaciers which surround its base. The records 
of the attempts of these adventurous climbers are 
recorded in two volumes — those of Professor Tyn- 
dall in a moderate-sized book with the modest 
title of " Hours of Exercise among the Alps" (re- 
published in this country by D. Appleton and 
Co.), of which we have given our readers some 
account in a previous number of the Magazine, 
those of Mr. Whymper in a finely illustrated vol- 
ume with the more suggestive and taking title of 
Scrambles among the Alps (republished by J. B. 
Lippincott and Co.). The American edition does 
not equal, either in the beauty of its typography 
or the exquisite finish of its engravings, the En- 
glish original, which is one of the handsomest 
products of the English press ; but we should not 
hesitate to declare it a handsome volume did it 
not suffer in comparison with the original, and 
despite that comparison we do not hesitate to 

characterize it as a very attractive book. Nor 
is it doing any dishonor to Professor Tyndall's 
volume to say that Mr. Whymper, who succeed- 
ed in first reaching the top of the Matterhorn, 
has also succeeded in producing by his pen and 
pencil a volume which, to those who are fond of 
adventures, has few equals, and almost no supe- 
riors, in the literature of mountain - climbing. 
Mr. Whymper is a genial companion. He is 
bold, but not audacious ; a lover of adventure, 
but neither fool-hardy nor a boaster. He is in 
hearty sympathy with nature, and inspires you 
with his own simple but earnest enthusiasm for 
the sublime. No task seems too diflScult for him 
to essay, no danger daunts him in the pursuit of 
his object; but he essays no adventure for its 
own sake, never displays his prowess to us, or 
exerts it without an object ; is not the man to 
cHmb a precipitous rock to cut his name upon 
its surface, nor to retreat from before it if it lies 
between him and the summit which he aims to 
reach. He is at once brave and modest, and 
the unconscious simplicity of his narrative of 
dangers, perils, adventures, and escapes adds in- 
tensity to the interest of the story, Avhich con- 
tains much practical and scientific information. — 
There is a great deal of power in some of Ella 
Wheeler's poems, Drops of Water (National 
Temperance b^ociety), but there would be a great 
deal more if they were not all set to the same 
key. When we take up a volume of poems, it is 
not in the mood with which we take up a vol- 
ume of philosophy ; w'e are not content to turn 
it into a series of homilies all pointing to the 
same end, and all written with the same purpose 
and embodying the same moral. "Drops of 
Water" are all temperance poems; if set to 
music they would serve a good purpose as a 
temperance glee -book; but in their present 
form they grow wearisome. The author defeats 
her own purpose by the very persistency with 
which she pursues it. 

€iiitor'3 ^mA t\mxX 


IN 1855 Dr. Mac Cormac presented a theory in 
regard to tubercular disease of the lungs, or 
consumption, in which he maintained that this 
disease is caused solely b}"- breathing air which 
has already passed through the lungs of man or 
other animals (or, otherwise, air that is deficient 
in oxygen), the inhalation of air already respired 
being accompanied by the retention of unoxid- 
ized carbon, or the dead, poisonous carbon, with- 
in the body of the organism. This effete mat- 
ter he considers to be the starting-point in the 
tubercle. He does not think that it forms the 
tubercle itself, but constitutes the poison from 
which tubercular disease takes its origin. 

His deduction from this is to the effect that 
the greatest care must be taken to secure an am- 
ple supply of fresh air, especially in cases where 
numbers of persons are obliged, by cold weather 
or other causes, to occupy a limited space to- 
gether, and in which a proper provision for a 
constant supply of fresh air has not been made. 

He believes that the predominance of tubercular 
disease in northern latitudes is not due to a tend- 
ency in the climate itself to produce this condi- 
tion, but to the greater liability to huddling to- 
gether for purposes of warmth, although it is 
probable that a diseased condition or irritation 
of the lungs in such cases may increase the mor- 
bification of the poisonous material. Where, in 
consequence of the mildness of the climate, per- 
sons are induced to live a great deal out-of-doors, 
or where the houses are not closed up to such a 
degree as to exclude the external air, or prevent 
its free passage, this disease becomes compara- 
tively unknown. He, indeed, encourag3S open 
windows and draughts of air, especially at night, 
if the body be well covered. 


The electro-chemical copying- press devised by 
Signor Eugenio de Zuccator, of Padua, has been 
materially improved since its first announce- 
ment, and now bids fair to realize measurably 
the object of a simple and ready method of 



multiplying any writing, printing, or drawing, by 
electro-chemical action, for the use of editors, 
telegraphers, reporters, etc. The copying-press 
itself differs but little from the screw-press in 
ordinary use, the difference being mainly in 
having the upper bed composed of a plate of 
copper, and the lower of a plate of copper 
tinned, both on mahogany beds, the upper being 
attached to the solid iron press by clips, and the 
lower being made to slide out. These two plates 
are placed in the ordinary way in the circuit of 
a battery, so that when brought into close prox- 
imity by the action of a screw the circuit is com- 
})leted, and the current established over the whole 

A steel plate is coated with an insulating var- 
nish, and upon this the writing or drawing is 
traced. When this ])late is interposed in the 
circuit, the current of electricity is confined to 
those portions deprived of the insulating surface, 
and leaves a record of its passage by its contin- 
ued action on the steel jjlate and on sheets of 
copying paper, especially prepared and dampened 
with a solution of prussiate of potash. The elec- 
trolytic action causes the formation of the ferro- 
prussiate, or "Prussian blue," producing a per- 
fect fac-simile of the original manuscript or de- 
sign upon the varnished surface of the plate. 

The movable steel plates on which the writing 
or drawing to be copied is made must be thor- 
oughly cleaned and well and evenly varnished, 
care also being taken, by a firm and steady press- 
ure on the style, to remove the varnish, leaving 
the writing, printing, or other pattern, in bright 
steel on a raised ground of varnish, affording 
perfect insulation every where on the surface. 
Any number of sheets, from one to six, can be 
placed one upon the other, after being dampened 
with the solution, and by interposing these in the 
circuit, screwing the press down so as to secure 
a proi)er contact, and by establishing the circuit, 
one wire being connected with the upper bed 
and the other with the lower, the desired result 
is accomplished in a few seconds. 


Mr. Richard A. Proctor, in an article on Na- 
tional Observatories for the Study of the Physics 
of Astronomy, refers to the communication of 
Colonel Strange, made to the British Association 
last year, urging the propriety on the part of the 
government of establishing observatories for the 
study of the aspect and changes of aspect of the 
sun, moon, and planets, on the ground that the 
establisliments already in operation confine them- 
selves too much to determining the position and 
motions, real or apparent, of the celestial bodies. 

Colonel Strange, in urging his project, calls at- 
tention to the great uncertainty that has hitherto 
prevailed in regard to climatological laws, and 
promises that, if observatories are established j 
especially fur the purpose, there is a strong prob- 1 
ability that the systematic study of the sun will i 
throw useful light upon climatological conditions. | 
To this Mr. Proctor rejoins that while all weather 
changes may be traced to the sun's infiuence, the 
idea that we shall ever be able, by studying the 
spots, the faculaj, the prominences, or the chro- 
matosphere, of the sun, to inter])ret the phenomena ] 
of the weather, appears demonstral)ly incorrect. I 
While the sun's diurnal course accounts (or the 
seasonal changes, we yet know that the weatlier 

of any single day is almost wholly independent 
of the general character due to the season. A 
season may be exceptionally cold or hot in one 
portion of the earth, while in another precisely 
the opposite characteristics will prevail, although 
subjected to the same solar conditions. 

Even if the direct action of the sun were more 
obviously recognizable in its general efiects, yet, 
inasmuch as, in the length and breadth of En- 
gland — a mere speck on the earth's surface — the 
greatest variety of weather is commonly ex})eri- 
enced, it is surely hopeless to attempt to j)redict 
the conditions which will prevail in any one 
country where the solar relations exhibit such 
and sucli a character ; and short of this no pre- 
diction would be of the least use to man. Even 
if there is the slightest prospect of our being able 
to do so much as this, of what practical use would 
it be to know that a storm will rage on a certain 
day, if it is as likely to occur in Russia as in the 
LTnited States, or in India as in China? 

Mr. Proctor also takes occasion to rebuke 
those who have sneered at the labor bestowed 
by meteorologists in tabulating and reducing a 
regular series of observations upon the weather, 
and remarks that even though we may not, at 
present, have the means of interpreting meteor- 
ological relations, we must know what these re- 
lations actually are ; or, in other words, we must 
have those long arrays of tabulated figures — 
thermometric, barometric, wind-recording, etc. 
— if we are to understand the cause or causes 
of changes in the direction of the wind, in the 
prevalence of cloud, in temperature, barometric 
pressure, etc. Although but little has hitherto 
come of these records, compared with the labor 
bestowed upon them, and though we may be 
under the impression that little ever will be the 
result, yet, if ever the great mysteries of me- 
teorology are solved, these tables will have ful- 
filled their purpose. To cease to make them, he 
thinks, is to admit that these mysteries are in- 


Every one conversant with the fish is aware 
of the great difference in taste and value between 
what are called the clean and foul salmon ; and 
Professor Christison has endeavored to deter- 
mine the precise nature of the difierence, by 
means of chemical analysis. The most prom- 
inent indication was the occurrence of a large 
percentage of oil in the clean salmon, and a deii- 
ciency in that of the poorer qualities. As a 
mean of the examinations made by I'rofessor 
Christison, he states that in clean salmon there 
are 18.53 per cent, of oil, 19.70 percent, nitrog- 
enous matter, 0.88 per cent, saline matter, and 
of water GO. 80 per cent. ; while in foul salmoti 
the amount of oil was only 1.2") per cent., and of 
water 80.88 per cent., the saline and nitrogenous 
matter not being materially different, although 
the latter was somewhat diminished. 



In illustration of the recent uj)hcaval of cer- 
tain portions of the South American coast, Pro- 
fessor Agassiz, speaking in a letter lo Professor 
Peirce of the geology of tlie Straits of Magellan, 
remarks that about a mile back from the shore, 



near Possession Bay, he found, at a height of 
nearly ir)0 feet above the sea-level, a salt pond, 
which, to his very great snrpi'ise, contained ma- 
rine shells, some of them still living, of species 
common in the adjacent ocean waters. The 
most abinidant were Fnsus, M//tilus, Buccinuj/i, 
y^a/e//a, etc., occurring in apparently the same 
numerical reUition as in the waters of the bay. 

The period at which this upheaval took place 
could not be determined : but it certainly could 
not be very remote, m view of the fact that so 
many specimens were still living. Tlie pond ap- 
pears to become nearly dry in the winter season, 
the small quantity of water remaining in it being 
intensely saline. 


A memoir on the absorption of metallic salts 
by wool when mordanted, submitted by Profess- 
or M. P. Havrez, was very favorably received 
by the Royal Society in Brussels. The action 
of the mordants — which usually have alum as a 
basis — is not confined to making the coloring 
principle insoluble and thus fixing it upon the 
tissue, but also imparts to the tint purity and in- 
tensity of color. The way of proceeding has al- 
ways been empirical, as the influence of the many 
possible modifications has never been fully as- 
certained. Mr. Havrez, in experimenting with 
tepid and boiling solutions of alum of different 
strength, used the salt in eleven different pro- 
portions, gradually increasing the amount from 
one-twentieth of one per cent, of the quantity of 
wool to 100 per cent. The feeble solutions had 
an alkaline reaction ; those more impregnated 
were acid. The cause of this difference Mr. 
Havrez at first attributed to traces of soda re- 
tained in the wool, to lime in the water used 
for washing, and finally to the presence of am- 
monia, resulting from the alteration of the ge- 
latinous principle of the wool. Mr. Stas then 
pointed out, as the true cause, the dissociation 
of the alum, and the extended experiments of 
JNIr. Havrez have confirmed this supposition. 
Diluted solutions of sulphate of iron and copper 
give entirely analogous results. As to the in- 
fluence of the different conditions in which the 
solution of the mordant is ap))lied, Mr. H. found, 
first, that lime dissolved in the water acts like a 
diminution of the mordant ; second, that the 
presence of free acid in small quantity does not 
prevent dissociation, but reduces the amount of 
alumina absorbed by the wool ; third, that most 
diluted solutions of alum, at the highest tem- 
perature, and by their long-continued action, 
produce the most extended dissociation and fix 
the most alumina. Besides, the ratio of the 
quantity of wool o])erated on to that of the alum 
applied is of greater influence than the propor- 
tion of the solvent to the alum. 

In summing uj), INIr. H. maintains that the 
elements of the mordants, separated by disso- 
ciation, are gradually and very unequally absorb- 
ed by the wool, so that the whole process ap- 
pears as a kind of dialysis, in which the wool 
acts the part of the porous body. 


Much uncertainty prevails in regard to the 
mode of generation of eels, and many contra- 
dictory views have been ])resented, none of them 
bearing the test of critical examination. Tiiis 

animal forms a remarkable exception to the 
characteristics of the anadromous fish, such as 
the shad, salmon, etc., which run up from the 
sea as mature fish, and spawn in the fiesh-water 
and return again ; their young remaining for a 
time, then visiting the sea, also to return to the 
rivers when the sexual instinct seizes them. The 
eel, on the contrary, spawns in the sea, and the 
young ruti up into fresh-water and pass the pe- 
riod of immaturity, then going down to the sea 
and remaining there, their young in turn pursu- 
ing the same round. 

It is now announced by Ercojani, an Italian 
physiologist, that the eel is really a perfect her- 
maphrodite ; that the genitals are only complete- 
ly developed at sea, during the month of Decem- 
ber; the ovaries and testes being together in the 
same animal, with spermatozoa; and he believes 
that the ova are fertilized tiiere before their emis- 
sion from the body. This is a very remarkable 
statement, but one that may, perhaps, prove to 
I be correct ; at any rate, it comes nearer to solv- 
ing the problem of the generation of the eel than 
any suggestion that has hitherto been made. 


Professor Newberry, in an article published in 
the American Chemist upon the asphalts, ex- 
presses the opinion that, without exception, they 
are more or less perfectly solidified products of 
the spontaneous evaporation of petroleum. In 
many instances the process of the formation of 
asphalt may be witnessed as it takes place in 
nature, and, in oil stills, varieties of asphalt are 
constantly produced. These are undistinguish- 
able from the natural ones. 

Among the most important of our asjjhaltic 
minerals are the Albertite and Grahamite — the 
first from New Brunswick, the second from West 
Virginia. Both occur in fissures opened across 
their bedding in strata of carboniferous age. 
There is little room for doubt that the fissures 
which contjfin the asphalt have aftbrded con- 
venient reservoirs into which petroleum has 
j flowed, and from which all the lighter parts 
I have been removed by evaporation. Similar de- 
posits, of less magnitude, are known in Colorado, 
Arkansas, Ohio, and Kentucky. In Southern 
California, Western Canada, and elsewhere, as- 
phalt may still be seen passing through the proc- 
ess of formation from petroleum, and especially 
in Santa Barbara and San Luis Obispo, where 
the accumulations of asphalt are well known to 
geologists. It also occurs on the shores of the 
Gulf of Mexico ; but it is in Trinidad, accord- 
ing to Dr. Newberry, that we must look for the 
greater part of the supply that is likely to be re- 
quired for various purposes, especially those con- 
nected with road-making. The quaniity ai)pears 
to be inexhaustible, and the quality is the very 
best ; and its accessibility to the sea-ports of the 
United States renders its transportation so cheap 
that it may be furnished, to the Atlantic cities 
especially, at much less cost than any of the as- 
phalts from the interior. 


At the meeting of the St. Louis Academy of 
Sciences on the 1 7th of June last Mr. C. V. 
Riley announced the interesting discovery of the 
male of the mussel - shaped bark -louse of the 



apple-tree (Mytilaspis conc/ti/onnis, Gruelin), 
and exhibited specimens and drawings. Tliis 
is the insect that produces the so-called "scur- 
vy" on apple-trees, and in the more Northern 
and Western States has been one of the most 
injurious of our orchard i)ests for many years 
past. Yet, common and injurious as it is, en- 
tomologists have been endeavoring in vain for a 
quarter of a century to discover the male. Re- 
cently in the Northwestern States, Avhich have 
sufiered most from this insect, it has suddenly 
become harmless, and is fast dying out and be- 
ing exterminated by its natm-al enemies, while 
in that part of Missouri w^here the male has been 
discovered it is increasing rapidly. Mr. Riley 
concludes that organic reproduction is the more 
normal with this insect, but that, as with the 
closely allied plant-lice (aphidaj), the male ele- 
ment is occasionally required to prevent degen- 


According to Meyer and Dulk, chloral hydrate 
is in reality ethylene-glycol, chloral alcoholate 
being the ethylic ether of the same substance. 



Pouchet has been investigating the cause of 
the blue color of certain fishes, which, as is well 
known, is extremely brilliant in certain species. 
In confining his attention to the French species 
exhibiting this color, he refers the characteristic 
in question to a constant anatomical cause. Be- 
neath the skin of the portion of the fish so col- 
ored there is always a layer, more or less thick, 
of small ovoid or irregularly circular minute 
bodies, yellow by transmitted light, which are 
the product of the complementary blue color in 
diffused light. These he calls iridescent bodies, 
from certain analogies with anatomical elements 
found in the cephalopods and some acephala. 
The diameter of these iridescent bodies varies 
from two to four or five thousandths of a millim- 
eter. In the Callionymus they are larger than 
elsewhere, and each is seen to be formed of a pile 
of extremely delicate lamella) applied one upon 
the other, but readily separable under the field 
of the microscope. This blue color, comple- 
mentary of the yellow, Pouchet considered to be 
due to a kind of fluorescence. 


In 18GG M. Dumont presented to the Acade- 
my of Sciences of Paris a sketch of a project 
for supplying the city of Nismes with drinking- 
water from the Rhone, filtered naturally. In 
1872 he announces to the same body a satisfac- 
tory completion of his labor, by means of which 
there is a daily supply of over 37,000 cubic yards, 
or 130 gallons to each inhabitant. In an in- 
dustrial and scientific point of view, the impor- 
tance of the work just completed presents three 
classes of interesting facts. First, the natural 
filtration of the waters of the Rhone by a sub- 
terranean and lateral gallery of 555 yards in 
length, and 33 feet wide inside, the largest 
known at the present time. Second, the throw- 
ing up of this water by two steam-engines of 
200 horse-power each to a distance of 11,000 
yards, by a single discharge pipe of a little over 
three inches interior diameter. This conduit, 
Vof,. XLVL— No. 2T1.-10 

which presents numerous inflections in its 
course, is commanded by a great reservoir forty- 
six feet in height, upon which the pumps act, 
not directly, but after having worked on small 
reservoirs joined to the latter. The interven- 
tion of these manifold reservoirs, and the estab- 
lishment of numerous emptiers of the air, at all 
projecting points, have had the efiect of render- 
ing very manageable the immense column of 
water, the weight of which is nearly 5000 tons, 
the elevation at this distance amounting to 240 

The amount of fuel required for these engines, 
which are vertical, with direct movement, is 2.21 
pounds of coal an hour for each horse-power. 
The entire initial expense of this hydraulic ar- 
rangement, including the necessary raachinerv, 
was about $1,200,000. 

The hypothesis upon which Dumont pro- 
ceeded in undertaking his labors, so satisfacto- 
rily accomplished, was that there exists under 
the gravel and sands of the Rhone, and under 
the course of all waters of an analogous nature, 
a volume of water perfectly clarified (really an 
inferior and subterranean river), and tliat these 
gravels, etc., are genuine filteis, which cleanse 
themselves by a double process, their product 
being always the same. The labors executed by 
the author at Lyons and elsewhere have proved 
to him the correctness of these views, and ena- 
bled him to establish the true principles which 
should be taken into consideration in the execu- 
tion of similar labors. These are, first, to give 
the preference to lateral galleries instead of fil- 
tering basins ; second, to bring these galleries 
as near as possible to the principal current of 
the river; third, to give these galleries the lar- 
gest interior diameter possible ; and fourth, to 
build the abutments up to the level of tlie low- 
water maik only, and make the layer of the fil- 
tering frame-work in the form of a cradle. 


According to Dr. Schafer the tissues of the 
tunicate mollusks contain a substance which in 
its properties and percentage of nitrogen corre- 
sponds closely to chondrine, usually considered 
a characteristic attribute of the vertebrata. 


According to Mr. Liversidge the minute den- 
tritic marks frequently noticed on paper, to 
which various observers have assigned a vege- 
table origin, are actually inorganic; blow-pipe 
examinations, supplemented by special tests, 
showing that they consist mainly of sulphide of 
copper. These usually have a nucleus, which 
consists of a minute particle of copper or brass, 
and probably derived from some part of the ma- 
chinery used in the manufiicturc of the paper. 


Mr. Iloworth has been engaged for some time 
on a series of papers discussing the cliangcs that 
have taken place to the present time in regard 
to the distribution of land and water, aiul the 
consequent efiect upon the climate. lie finds 
that the result has been a great increase in the 
amount of cold in the far north, rendering re- 
gions such as those of Fast Greenland, once ca- 
pable of supporting a considerable population, 



now entirely uninhabitable, and literally covered 
tlie year round with snow and ice. He says, 
however, tluit while the evidence is overpowering 
tluit the climate has been growing more severe 
in the highest latitudes, there is a great deal of 
evidence to show the cold has decreased else- 
where, and that, especially in view of the ac- 
counts given of the climate of Gaul and Ger- 
many in the Roman times, we can not but admit 
that there has been a great improvement since 
that date. Tiius we are told of winters when 
the Danube and Rhine were frequently frozen 
over, and of the occurrence of the reindeer and 
moose in localities far south of their present hab- 
itat. Ovid laments over the fearful severity of 
his place of exile on the coast of Thrace, and re- 
fers to the occurrence of white foxes there, and 
contemporaneous references corroboratehis state- 

JNIr. Iloworth inquires whether, even within 
the prehistoric period, the circumpolar climate 
may not have been A-ery temperate, when that of 
more southern latitudes was very severe. We 
know, in fact, that during the miocene period 
Greenland once possessed a climate not dissimi- 
lar to that of the Eastern United States, as shown 
in the occurrence of numerous species of trees 
of large size, some of them, like our cypress, etc., 
absolutely identical with our forest vegetation of 
the present day. Mr. Howorth also refers to 
the general impression among whalers that ex- 
cessively severe winters in the more temperate 
latitudes are accompanied by an unusual degree 
of mildness in the more northern latitudes. 

This we accept as an augury in favor of Cap- 
tain Hall's exploration, since the winter of 1871- 
72 was one of the severest on record of late years ; 
and should Mr. Howorth's suggestion be correct, 
the captain should have enjoyed an unusual free- 
dom from snow and ice, permitting him to prose- 
cute his researches to great advantage. 


iMr. Whitmer, in referring to a paper by Mr. 
Murnhv in Nature on the scarcitv of cvclones in 
the Pacific, remarks that there is rarely a year 
without at least one cyclone passing through, or 
in the neighborhood of, one of the Feejee, Samoan, 
or Hervey group of islands. He states that the 
cyclone season extends over the greater part of 
tlie period during which the sun is south of the 
equator; consequently, when the trade -winds 
from the north reach farthest south, they are 
most prevalent about the middle, or a little later 
than the middle, of the season, rarely earlier 
than December or January. They are usually 
preceded for a few days by strong northerly 
winds; and if during such winds a sudden fall 
of the barometer occur, this is cons?idered a sure 
indication of an approaching cyclone. 


Doctor Pollard, in a paper in the British Med- 
ical Journal upon seasickness, remarks that two 
opposite theories have been suggested as explain- 
ing its cause ; one that it arises from a depress- 
ing effect on the brain produced by the motion 
of tlie vessel, for which the remedy would be 
lying so as to obtain an increased supply of blood 
to the brain ; the other, supported by Sir J, Al- 
derson, that increase of blood in the brain is the 
real cause, an analogy being drawn between the 

blood in its vessels and the mercury of a barom- 

The most probable theory of seasickness is 
that held by Dr. Carpenter, Mr. Bain, and other 
writers, who consider that the mental and bodily 
prostration and the other symptoms arise from 
the continued action on the brain of a certain set 
of sensations, more particularly the sensation of 
Avant of support. This feeling, arising from the 
sudden loss of support, as when the footing, or 
any prop that we lean upon, suddenly gives way, 
is of the most disagreeable kind. 

The phenomena of seasickness appear to be 
due to the constant repetition of this feeling of 
loss of support consequent on the pitching and 
rolling of the ship, more particularly the for- 
mer. If, therefore, seasickness arises from cer- 
tain impressions on the senses, the theory of its 
prevention is to render these impressions as fee- 
ble as possible. Application of the mind to an 
engrossing book will keep it off" for a short pe- 
riod ; but this answers only a temporary purpose. 

To lessen the impressions as much as possible 
the patient should preserve the recumbent pos- 
ture as near the centre of the ship as practica- 
ble ; he should lie on a thickly padded couch, so 
as to diminish the vibration. Fresh air should 
be admitted in order to remove bad smells. The 
eves should be shaded, and as much noise as 
possible shut out. As regards drugs, the most 
rational suggestion is that of Dr. Doring, of Vi- 
enna, that a full dose of hydrate of chloral 
should be taken shortly before the vessel starts ; 
and, even in long voyages, the repeated use of 
this medicine will insure comfortable nights 
without the disagreeable after-effects of opium 
and chloroform. 


]Mr. Hayes calls the attention of American 
chemists to the value, for illuminating purposes, 
of a heavy oil obtained from petroleum, and 
known in the trade as Morrill's mineral sperm- 
oil. This, it is claimed, has the advantage of 
being as safe as sperm-oil in combustion. It is 
sufficiently thin to fill the wicks perfectly, but is 
so far from being a volatile oil that it is com- 
paratively inodorous, and will not take fire at 
any temperature below 300° F. Flames of 
considerable size, such as a large ball of wick- 
ing-yarn, saturated with oil and ignited, when 
plunged beneath the surface of this oil, pre- 
viously heated to the temperature of boiling 
water, are extinguished at once. It burns free- 
ly in the German student lamps, and with great 
brilliancy from the "dual burner." The patentee 
of this oil estimates that 00,000 gallons can be 
manufactured per day, or about one-fourth of 
the whole product of petroleum. This is more 
than twice the whole product of the sperm and 
whale oils in the best days of the fishery in this 


According to INIr. J. A. Wanklyn, the differ- 
ential action of potassic hydrate and potassium 
permanganate may serve as a method to distin- 
guish between various animal fluids. When 
these are evaporated down with excess of potassa 
solution, and then maintained for some time at 
1 50°, a certain proportion of ammonia is evolved ; 
and if the residue be now boiled with an alkaline 



solution of potassium permanganate, a further 
definite quantity of ammonia is given off, the 
relative amount of ammonia evolved by these 
two additions being constant for the same animal 
fluid. The author has examined by this method 
urine, milk, blood, white of egg, and gelatine, 
the latter of which gives but a mere trace of 
ammonia by treatment with caustic potash. It 
would be possible by this process to distinguish 
between a spot of milk and one of white of egg 
on a cambric handkerchief. 



According to Tomlinson, supersaturated saline 
solutions, which would instantly solidify if ex- 
posed to the air of a room, may be kept for many 
hours in the open air of the country without crys- 
tallization, even newly sprouted leaves not acting 
as nuclei. 


Among the stock curiosities of the literature 
of fishes may be mentioned the story referred to 
in " Walton's Complete Angler, " that a pike was 
taken in 1497, in a fish-pond near lleilbronn, in 
Suabia, with a ring fixed in its gills, on which 
were engraved the words, "I am the fish which 
Frederick the Second, Governor of the World, 
put into this pond 5th October, 1233 ;" by which 
it would appear tliat this fish had then lived 2G0 
years. This fish was said to have been nine- 
teen feet in length, and to have weighed 350 

Mr. Frank Buckland remarks that he has at 
present in his possession a painting of great an- 
tiquity which J^'ofesses to be a portrait of the 
identical fish, and bearing an inscription corre- 
sponding somewhat to that referred to above. 
The length, however, of the fish represented is 
four feet nine inches ; the ring around the neck 
measured ten and a half inches, and the fish 
would probably weigh about fifty pounds. What 
the facts may really be in regard to the fish in 
question it is, of course, impossible to state ; al- 
though it may be reasonably doubted whether 
any thing like the age mentioned could have 
been attained, and the length of nineteen feet 
must evidently be an exaggerated statement. 


M. Tourmasi communicates to Les Mondes 
the following laws in reference to the solubility 
of salts and of simple gases in water, which he 
thinks he has established, but for M-hich he de- 
sires additional verification. These arc as fol- 
loAvs : First, for salts belonging to the same 
chemical formula (as sulphates, bromides, etc.) 
the coefficients of solubility are in direct ratio 
to tlieir sj)ecific heat ; one exception only, so far, 
has been met with, namely, chloride of manga- 
nese. !-:^econd, for simple gases the case is just 
the reverse from that of salts, namely, that their 
solubility in water is in inverse ratio to their 
s])ecific heat. 


Mr. Vial presented to tlie Academy of Sci- 
ences, in Paris, a new metliod of ])rinting upon 
fubrics by means of metallic precipitation. An 
illustration of the process is seen if we take a 
piece of linen, cotton, or silk fabi ic, and soak it 

I for a time in a solution of nitrate of silver. Aft- 
1 er exposing tliis to the air for a short time foi 
I the purpose of partially drying, if we place above 
it a coin, or a casting of zinc, lead, or copper, the 
nitrate will be decomposed in places where con- 
tact has been effected and the silver immediate- 
ly precipitated in the form of a bh\ck powder, 
representing the image upon the coin in its mi- 
nutest details, and in a faitliful, distinct, and 
indelible manner. Every time the coin is jjlaced 
upon the moist cloth the impression will l)e le- 
peated instantaneously and perfectly, this not 
being the result of the application of color, but a 
chemical phenomenon exhibited by the simj)le 
contact of the salt and the metal, whatever be 
the delicacy or extent of the point of contact, 
and the deposition of the silver is made with 
such intensity as to strike almost entirely through 
the material. 

Simple Avashing with water will remove from 
the cloth the undecomposed salt. The tint of 
the impression may be varied at will, from ])alc 
gray to intense black, according to the pro])or- 
tions of the silver and the material used as a 
precipitant. In general it is black, in propor- 
tion to the affinity it has for oxygen, and the de- 
gree to which it is removed from the silver. 
The process of Mr. Vial is presented by him to 
tlie consideration of scientific and practical men 
for their experiments, and he feels quite sure 
that it will take a place of great importance in 
the arts of printing and dyeing. 


Professor Daniel Kirkwood, in a communica- 
tion to Nature relative to the late paper of Schi- 
aparelli upon comets, calls attention to an arti- 
cle published by himself in the Danville Quor- 
terhj lievieiv, for July, 1801, in which tlie fol- 
lowing propositions were maintained : 

1. That meteors and meteoric rings "are the 
debris of ancient but now disintegrated comets, 
whose matter has become distributed around their 

2. That the separation of Biela's comet, as 
it approached the sun in December, 1845, Avas 
but one in a series of similar processes, which 
would probably continue until the individual 
fragments would become invisible. 

3. That certain luminous meteors have en- 
tered the solar system from the interstellar 

4. That the orbits of some meteors and peri- 
odic comets have been transformed into ellii>ses 
by planetary ])crturbation. 

5. That numerous facts — some observed in 
ancient and some in modern times — have been 
decidedly indicative of cometary disintegration. 

In reference to these {)roi)ositions I'rofessor 
Kirkwood remarks that, though stated as theory 
in 18G1, they have since been confirmed as un- 
doubted facts. • 


Mi: Boyd Dawkins, in a paper on the fossil 
deer of the forest bed of Norf(jlk and Siiffoll-;, 
describes a new species under the name of 
verticornis, which has certain characters ally- 
ing it to the Irish cllc, and which it must also 
have rivaled in size. In this new species the 
base of the antler is set on the head very oh- 
' liquely ; immediately above it springs the cvliu- 



drical brow tyiie, which suddenly curves down- 
ward and inward ; immediately above the brow 
tvne the beam is more or less cvlindrical, be- 
coming gradually flattened. A third flattening 
tyne springs on the anterior side of the beam, 
and inmicdiately above it tiie broad crown ter- 
minated in two or more points. No tyne is 
thrown oil" on the posterior side of the antler, 
and the sweep is uninterrupted from the antler 
base to the flrst point of the crown. 


Ore has been repeating the experiment of 
Dr. Liebreich in reference to the availability of 
strychnine as an antidote of chloral, and he' has 
come to the conclusion that, however the fact 
may be in this respect, Liebreich's experiments 
are insufficient to prove his assertion, especially 
in consideration of the fact that a hypodermic 
injection neither of chloral nor of strychnine, in 
the proportions used by him, is necessarily fotal 
to rabbits. 


If we boil chlorophyl with potash lye for a 
quarter of an hour we shall have a mixture of a 
green color,, which may be filtered, and hydro- 
chloric acid added. As soon as the potash is 
neutralized a precipitate is produced ; and on 
adding more acid the liquid becomes of a bright 
grass-green color; and when again neutralized 
with carbonate of lime a green precipitate is 
formed, constituting a new substance, which has 
l)een called jnirpurophyl . This, when washed 
with Avater and covered with alcohol, assumes a 
fine purple tint, and is turned green by ammonia. 


In the course of some recent experiments Dr. 
I'hipson has ascertained that a certain blue col- 
or, produced by the action of hypochlorite of 
lime on tiie alcoholic solution of a vellowish col- 
oring matter of Boletus luridus, etc. (species of 
ftmgi), may be reproduced almost exactly from 
phenol, which renders it probable that the vege- 
table blue in question belongs to the phenyl 


According to the experiments of a committee 
of the Academy of Sciences of Paris in refer- 
ence to disinfectants, it was ascertained that the 
first place among the agents destructive of infec- 
tious germs should be assigned to hyponitrous 
acid. This, however, being very poisonous, 
must be used with great precaution. It is said 
to be especially applicable for the disinfection of 
apartments in which cases of small-pox, yellow 
fever, or other grave diseases have existed. Be- 
fore using this substance all crevices of the 
doors, windows, and fire-])laces should be care- 
fully pasted up with paper. Acid fumes are to 
be generated by placing two quarts of water in 
earthen vessels of about ten quarts capacity for a 
small room, and adding to the water about three 
l)Ounds of ordinary nitric acid and ten ounces of 
copper filings, Should the room be large, pro- 
portionally larger vessels should be employed. 
After starting the operation the door of entrance 
should be carcfullv sealed, and the room left un- 
disturbed for forty-eight hours. Great care 

must be taken on entering the room after the op- 
eration, so as to avoid breatiiing the acid. Car- 
bolic acid may also be used to great advantage 
by mixing it with sand or sawdust in the pro- 
portion of one part to three. This may be placed 
in earthen pots as above. 


Several years ago General James II. Carleton, 
U.S.A., visited the abandoned drift of the Han- 
over copper mine, on the side of a mountain ten 
miles northeast from Port Bayard, Grant Coun- 
ty, New Mexico. The passage was made 
through a body of earth to reach the solid rock. 
At the distance of twenty-five feet from the 
mouth, and where the earth ovei'head was per- 
haps equally thick, a portion of the dirt roof had 
fallen away, and revealed an object which, on ex- 
amination, proved to be the cranial portion of an 
inverted human skull. With a bowie-knife the 
general broke oft" a considerable portion of tlie 
calivarium, the remainder being imbedded so 
firmly that he could not remove it. 

He was unable to detei-mine whether the rest 
of the skeleton Avas there or not, but is satisfied 
as to the completeness of the cranium. In his 
visit he was accompanied by Governor Robert 
B. Mitchell and Hon. Charles P. Cleaver, both 
of whom were cognizant of the circumstances. 
The fragments of the skull obtained by him were 
presented to David L. Huntingdon, U.S.A., 
then stationed at Fort Bavard. 


Messieurs Pierre and Puchot have been prose- 
cuting some researches into the alcoholic prod- 
ucts of distillation, and find tliat these consist, 
first, of aldehyde ; second, of ethylic acetate; 
third, of propylic alcohol; fourth, of butylic al- 
cohol ; fifth, of amylic alcohol ; and sixth, of 
essential oils. 

For the purpose of determining the existence 
of these various products as chemical substances, 
and formed at the expense of sugar during fer- 
mentation, the authors above named have sub- 
mitted them to numerous chemical tests, and 
have also sought for the means of depriving vi- 
nous alcohol, properly speaking, of these various 
substances, for the practical purposes of purifi- 
cation, as it is to the presence of one or other 
of them that the defective taste of certain forms 
of spirits is attributed. 

Among the indirect results reached in their 
inquiries, the authors maintain that it is incor- 
rect to say, when two non-miscible liquids are 
boiled together, that the atmospheric pressure is 
equal to the sum of the elastic forces of the va- 
pors of the two liquids, estimated separately at 
the temperature at which the mixture boils ; but 
that, Jirst, when two non-miscible liquids are 
boiled together, one of them being water, the 
boiling-point of the mixture is below that of the 
liquid that boils most readily ; second, this boil- 
ing-point of the mixture continues absolutel}' 
constant as long as there remains an appreciable 
quantity of each of the two liquids ; third, this 
constancy is independent of the relative propor- 
tions of the two ii(iuids ; fourth, the mixed va- 
pors condensed during distillation have a direct 
relation to each other, indei)endently of the rel- 
ative proportions of the two liquids brought to- 
gether in the distilling apparatus. 

I3i5taitnl f\tm\ 


OUR Record is closed on the 2Gth of Octo- 
ber. — The October elections have, in the 
main, resulted favorably for the administration 
candidates. The election in Georgia, October 
2, was for Governor and members of the State 
Legislature, and five Congressmen. James M. 
Smith, Democrat, was elected Governor by over 
50,000 majority. In Pennsylvania, Ohio, and 
Indiana elections were held October 8. Gener- 
al Hartranft, Kepublican, was elected Governor 
of Pennsylvania by a majority of 35,G27. Mr. 
Allen, the Republican candidate for Auditor-Gen- 
eral, received a majority of 30,780, and Ulysses 
Mercur, Republican candidate for Supreme Court 
judge, a m.ajority of 40,4:43. Tiie average majori- 
ty of tlie three Republican candidates for Congress- 
men at large Avas nearly 46,000. In Oliio, Allen 
T. Wikolf, Republican, was elected Secretary 
of State by a majority of 11,910. John Welch 
was elected Supreme Court judge by a majority 
of 10,189. The Congressmen stand seven Dem- 
ocrats to thirteen Republicans. James A. Gar- 
field (Nineteenth District) was re-elected by a 
majority of 10,955. In Indiana the Democrats 
elected T. A. Hendricks for Governor by a 
majority of 1148. The new Legislature will 
stand, in the Senate, 27 Republicans to 23 
Democrats ; in the House, 54 Republicans to 
4G Democrats. The Congressional delegation 
stands 9 Repulilicans to 4 Democrats. The 
election in South Carolina, October 10, resulted 
in the success of General Moses, the regular Re- 
publican candidate for Governor, by a majority 
of from 35,000 to 40,000 (estimated). The con- 
stitutional amendment prohibiting an increase of 
the State debt was ratified, being generally in- 
dorsed by both parties. This amendment ren- 
ders it necessary that any increase of the State 
debt (beyond that incurred in the ordinary and 
current business of the State) shall be submit- 
ted to the people at a general election, and re- 
quire for its sanction a two-thirds vote. 

Tiie Oregon Legislature, September 28, elect- 
ed M. C. Mitchell, Kepublican, United States Sen- 
ator. A bill providing for woman suffrage has 
been introduced into the Lower House of the 
Oregon Legislature. 

Emperor William of Prussia has decreed in 
favor of the United States in regard to the San 
Juan boundary question submitted for his ar- 
bitration. This decision makes the boundary 
line pass through Canal de Haro instead of 
Rosario Strait, thus including within the Unit- 
ed States the San Juan, Orcas, and Lopez 

The total losses bv the great fire in Chicago, 
October, 1871, amounted to $200,000,000, to 
which another million must be added on account 
of the depreciation of property and the interrup- 
tion of trade. The year which has passed since 
this event has seen at least one-third of the value 
of the destroyed i)roperty restored. The liotels, 
the i^laces of amusement, the warehouses, the 
churches, and the schools which have taken 
the place of those which were destroyed are 
grander and more substantial edifices, and archi- 
tecturally more beautiful. The prices of real 
estate are higher than at the time of the fire, and 

the industrial interests of Chicago have been more 
than re-established. In fact, the great disaster 
of last year is beginning to be regarded as a 
blessing in disguise, and the great Western me- 
tropolis — already connected with the interior by 
a score of railways, and having a lake marine 
rivaling the tonnage of the great sea-ports of the 
world — dreams with unabated enthusiasm of 
ship -canals westward to the Mississippi and 
eastward to the sea- board. 

Turning from the Gateway of the West to the 
Golden Gate of the Pacific, we find some inter- 
esting statistics resi)ecting the commerce of San 
Francisco during the nine months ending Sep- 
tember 30, 1872. There have arrived during 
this period fifty full cargoes of Eastern goods 
by way of Cape Horn, besides twenty more by 
Panama steamers ; forty-five cargoes of Englisli 
goods — coal, iron, drugs, liquors, dry-goods, 
etc. ; fifty-six cargoes of coal from Australia ; 
and the usual amount of coffee, rice, sugar, and 
tea from China and the East Indies, 'rhe im- 
ports by shipment are valued at $3, 70(5,990, 
against $2,575,042 during the same time last 
year — an increase of 50 per cent. The export 
trade has been unusually active. Thus there 
was a shipment of 3,000,000 centals of wheat, 
against less than 1,000,000 centals during the 
same time last year. The exports by water 
amounted to $15,242,738, against $10,547,593 
in 1871. The exports of treasure are estimated 
at $25,041,029, against $14,044,075 in 1871. 
The amount collected in duties on foreign im- 
ports at this port for the nine months is 
$0,308,000, against $5,022,000 for the same 
time last year, showing a greatly increased for- 
eign commerce, since no duties have been col- 
lected during the past quarter on coffee and tea. 

In California, as indeed througiiout the coun- 
try, the want of more abundant and cheajier 
means of transportation is severely felt. As a 
remedy it is proposed to build narrow-gauge 
railroads. It is estimated that in the grain- 
producing portions of the State there is not any 
one hundred miles in length by six miles in 
width that does not pay for the transportation 
of its produce yearly an amount in excess of 
what the charges would be on a narrow-gauge 
road enough to build and equip a road of its 
own. In the Northwest a like Avant for cheaper 
transportation has stimulated afresh the agita- 
tion for a canal to communicate with the Atlan- 
tic coast. Every where great attention is being 
paid to the subject of canal transjjortation. The 
offer by the State of New York for the success- 
ful application of some motive ])ower as a siib- 
stituic for horses to canal-boats on the ICrie 
Canal has led to results which jjromisc the 
propulsion of these boats by steam, in half the 
time and at less expense than by the present 

Some idea of the demands made upon trans- 
portation by the grain trade is conveyed i)y the 
fact that for the forty-eight hours ending at noon 
October 14 there w'cre received at the i)ort of 
Eulfalo 1,380,000 bushels of grain. The HufValo 
route has won favor on account of the low rates 
of toll on the canal— an important consideration 
when we remember how formidable at one time 



aj)peared the prospect of a diversion of trade 
through Canada. 

Among the most important of the subjects 
discussed during the session of the National 
Board of Trade in New York, October 15-19, was 
tliat of a more popular railway service. Mr. K. 
II. Ferguson, of Troy, New York, read a very 
able paper, exposing "the terrible drain upon 
the productive and laboring interests of our 
country on account of our present railroad man- 
agement." He made a comparison of fourtii- 
class freights charged by the different railroad 
lines for the last five years from the cities of 
Chicago, Toledo, and St. Louis ; also from six 
interior competing points in the States of Iowa, 
Illinois, and Indiana, viz., Mattoon, Decatur, 
and Paris, in Illinois ; Terre Haute, Indiana , 
and Keokuk and Dubuque, in Iowa, to New York 
citv. He took the months of December, Janu- 
ary, February, March, and April of each year, 
as those months only show what the railroads 
v.'ould 4o the year through if they had no water 
competition. The result of his estimate was that 
three-fourths of the Western producers' grain 
were given to the railroads to carry the remain- 
ing fourth to market. There was a tendency 
toward consolidation among all through lines, 
crushing out all competition, and enabling two 
or three railroad kings to dictate to the people 
how much they shall pay for food, fuel, and 
clothing. "Already the railroad system of our 
country (comprising over 50,000 miles, and ftist 
increasing) is in the hands of half a dozen men, 
who can to-morrow morning telegraph orders 
from their head-quarters that will raise the bar- 
rel of flour you buy at noon one dollar per bar- 
rel, the pork you buy one and two cents per 
pound, the beef you eat the same, the coal you 
burn one dollar a ton, every bushel of grain in 
ihe country two, three, five, and ten cents per 
bushel, putting into their purses millions of dol- 
lars before night, to the disadvantage of every 
man, woman, and child, and to the benefit alone 
of half a dozen millionaires." The railroad cor- 
porations have gained the control of Legislatures. 
Yet " it is the people's land and money that help- 
ed to build the roads ; it is the people's produc- 
tions of land, loom, and furnace that furnish the 
freights for said roads, that are now run to see 
how much can be extorted from the people (to 
pay large dividends on stock that is watered 
and doubled every little while), instead of seeing 
how cheaj)ly the freight could be carried, which 
is the only rule that should govern a properly 
constructed railroad managed in the interests of 
the people. The people, therefore, have a right 
to say what shall be a proper compensation for 
carrying their freight. There is great danger to 
every interest in our country — financial, produc- 
tive, manufacturing, and, above all others, the 
laboring interest. It demands our earnest at- 
tention and immediate action. Every moment 
but tightens the iron grip these railroad monop- 
olies now have upon the people's throats." The 
real cost of transportation is only from one- 
fourth to one-third of the tariff' now charged. 
According to the report of the Commissioner 
of Agriculture, the amount of grain produced in 
the United States in 1871 was 1,519,770,100 
bushels. Suppose that only two-thirds of this — 
1,000,000,000 bushels — were transported, we 
have the enormous sum of $215,000,000 extort- 

ed from the people, if that amount were shipped 
from Chicago, and the still greater sum of 
$300,000,000 OH the same amount sliipped from 
St. Louis. But as half of the amount was 
shipped from lesser points at higher rates, this 
sum would still be increased. But taking the 
two places, Chicago and St. Louis, we have an 
average of $272,500,000. This sum would in 
ten years pay the whole national debt. It would 
build and equip a double- track road of 3400 
miles in length, at a cost of $80,000 per mile, 
every year, almost long enough to reach from 
New York to San Francisco. To- remedy this 
growing evil Mr. Ferguson suggested through 
trunk lines crossing the continent from ocean to 
ocean, or from the grain fields and centres of 
the West to all the sea-board cities in the East, 
said roads to consist of four tracks ; if advisable, 
a track each way for freight, and one each way 
for passenger traffic ; these roads to be free thor- 
oughfares, over which the people's freight shall 
be carried for cost, the roads to be built by the 
people — that is, every county and State through 
which the road passes to pay an equal share of 
the cost of construction and equipment accord- 
ing to its population and wealth ; where a coun- 
ty or State is too poor the government to give 
the necessary aid ; each county and State through 
which the road passes to guarantee a certain per 
cent, interest to stock-holders ; no stock-holder 
or share-holder to be allowed a vote on said stock 
or shares, simply holding stock or shares as a 
voucher for their investment and to entitle them 
to the interest on such deposit. 

In bringing subjects of this character before 
the people, general associations like the Nation- 
al Board of Trade are of great value and impor- 
tance. It is the era of associations, and the con- 
stant tendency of these is toward expansion, from 
local to national, then from national to inter- 
national. The tendency toward centralization 
in the government and in the great moneyed 
interests of the country is a manifestation of 
this characteristic feature of the age. The 
evils involved in this tendency can only be met 
by a corresponding organization on the part of 
those whose interests it is the design of the gov- 
ernment to represent, and on the part of labor, 
which is the basis of all wealth. If government 
is centralized, then it must be popularized to 
prevent centralization from becoming despot- 
ism. If railway autocrats conspire to rob pro- 
ducers and consumers, then the producers and 
consumers must organize for the protection of 
their interests. If the monopolies use the gov- 
ernment, then the people must prevent corrup- 
tion by reform associations, and must, through 
organizations representing their interests, secure 
the assistance of their servants who represent 
them in our national councils. In this con- 
nection Commodore Maury's address at the St. 
Louis Agricultural Fair, early in October, is very 
suggestive. He urged the necessity of co-opera- 
tion among agriculturists in order to secure from 
the law-makers the same consideration which 
has been secured from them by combinations 
among the railroad men, the miners, the mer- 
chants, and the manufacturers. The agricul- 
turists were not at a disadvantage for lack of 
wealth, numbers, or intelligence. The crops of 
last year (1871) amounted in round numbers to 
$2,500,000,000. According to the last census 



there are 12,500,000 " bvcnd-earners" in tlic ' 
United States, filling the mouths of a popula- 
tion of 39,000,000. These several interests 
subsist respectively — the agricultural and me- 
chanical, 23,830,000 souls ; the commercial, 
2,32G,000; the mauufiicturing, 1,117,000 ; min- 
ing, 472,000; the railroad and express men, 
595,000. "Therefore you beat in numeric- 
al strength these several industries, that are so 
much more compact in organization and pow- 
erful with Legislatures than you are, some ten, 
some twenty, and some fifty times— and all com- 
bined five to one. Hitherto your combinations 
have extended only to the forming of State and 
coimty societies, and the influencing of State 
Legislatures. Theirs are general ; they impress 
Congress." A National Agricultural Congress 
had been organized in St. Louis May 28, 1872, 
and this should be fostered by the rural in- 
terests of the country. The appropriation by 
Congress to tlie Signal-office, with a view to 
the interests of agriculture as well as of com- 
merce, was one of the results already secured 
by this organization. It had pledged itself to 
an international conference, in which the de- 
tails might be arranged for a universal system 
of meteorological observation and crop reports. 
This would enable farmers to fix prices upon 
their staples, instead of having this done for 
them by the merchants. "The International 
Congress of Statisticians has just had a meeting 
on the banks of the Neva. In it the great na- 
tions of the earth were represented. It met 
under the auspices of the Emperor of Russia in 
iiis own capital, and was inaugurated there by 
the real friend of true scientific progress, the 
Grand Duke Constantine. It was cheered in its 
labors with the huzzas of the Russians, the hochs 
of the Germans, the vivas of the Latin races, and 
the hurrahs of the English, and among its labors 
was the appointment of a special committee in 
furtherance of this scheme. " Commodore Maury 
directed attention to the oppression of the agri- 
culturists by gigantic railroad monopolies. This 
evil must be met by the National Agricultural 

The project of an interoceanic canal is still re- 
ceiving attention from tiie government. The 
Navy Department has ordered an exploration of 
the Eajoyo River in connection with the survey 
of the Nicaragua route of the canal, and the 
work was to begin on the 1st of December. In 
January Commander Selfridge is to finish the | 
survev of the Panama route. 

In Georgia the culture of tea is being under- 1 
taken with good promise of success, the plant , 
being raised from seed, and not, as hitherto, from 
imported plants. 

The Liverpool returns show that during the 
months of July, August, and September the de- 1 
parture of ships for the United States has av- ' 
eraged more than one per day, while the emi- j 
grants have flocked westward at the rate of 
12,000 per month, or 144,000 per year. En- 
glish artisans and laborers are beginning to count 
largely in the emigration , and it appears that 
they avoid Canada, as affording fewer induce- ' 
ments to the industrious and enterprising than 
the free and independent life of a republic. ' 
Com])ared with other periods, as well as with j 
the preceding quarter, the increase of immigra- 
tion is enormous. Ninety-nine ships left during 

the three months for the United States with 
3G,491 steerage passengers and nearly (JOOO in 
the cabin. Seventeen ships left for Canada, 
carrying 5G07 persons. The aggregate number 
of passengers was 50,385, of whom the greater 
proportion (18,279) were English, and only 5104 
Irish. The most notable feature of the quarter's 
return is the sudden access of Swedes, Danes, 
and Germans to the emigration from Liverpool, 
no less than 15,853 of the whole number having 
been drawn from the Scandinavian and German 
countries, coming by way of Hull to Liverpool, 
and thence to the United'States, in preference to 
shipping from the Baltic direct by the Bremen 
and German Lloyds' steamers. These vessels, 
however, have also brought a large com])any of 

A large body of the emigrants from Alsace 
and Lorraine purpose to form a settlement in the 
neighborhood of Alexandria, Virginia. Canada 
will also receive a considerable number of these 

The strike of the bricklayers in Chicago has to 
some extent interfered with the building indus- 
try in that city. The Union demands that all 
foremen shall be members of its organization, 
and that none but Union men shall be employed. 
In about half the cases these points were con- 

In New Orleans there was a 'longshoremen's 
strike about the middle of October. The object 
was to secure $4 wages per day, instead of $3, 
and ten hours for the working-day. The strik- 
ers assembled in large numbers, and marched 
through the streets. Captain William Barnes 
lost his life in attempting to prevent their inter- 
ference with the working-men on his barges. 
The strike at this season is very injurious to the 
commercial interests of the city. 

The experiment of building associations is 
being tried in Cincinnati with favorable results. 
Those in the old Sixteenth Ward alone are de- 
veloping a capital of over $3,500,000, which 
will all be used within the next four or five 
years in building homes, buying real estate, 
setting men up in business, and in every way 
helping a class of men who, but for these benev- 
olent institutions, Avould never own a foot of 
ground during their lives. It has been said that 
fully one-fourth of the money now being invest- 
ed in building associations used to be spent for 
liquor and its accompanying vices. If this 
be true, they have accomplished a good end. 
But in addition they offer a safe investment for 
a poor man to lay up his dollar per week where 
it will draw an interest that is not excelled 
by that derived from the capital of the mill- 

The most eminent among the educators of 
Massachusetts form a committee to consider the 
propriety of admitting female students (o the 
colleges. A year ago Mr. II. W. Sage, of Hi ook- 
lyn, New York, one of the trustees of Cornell 
University, ofiered that institution a quarter of a 
million of dollars provided it afforded the same 
advantages to young women that it does to young 
men. The offer was not hastily accepted, but 
was referred to a committee to examine the 
whole question. The majority reported in favor 
of its acceptance on those conditions. Another 
committee, appointed to visit the leading colleges 
and universities attended by both sexes, as the 



result of their investigations, came to this con- 
clusion : 

Both the testimony of experience and the investi- 
patiuns of the coniinittee a;^'ree in the conchision that 
the Hvsteni of co-education has worlccd well, and the 
comn'iittee failed to tind one objection to it in prac- 
tice. Its eflects on hotli the young men and the young 
women are beneficial, and the facts indicate that there 
is no loss in scholarship. ' The yonng women are at 
least the equals of the young men in collegiate studies,' 
while their 'conscientiousness' in study elevates the 
general tone of scholarship. Facts are given showing 
that the health of young women does not suffer from 
collegiate study more than that of young men." 

In accordance with the recommendation of the 
committee, Mr. Sage's proposal lias been accept- 
ed, and the doors of Cornell thrown open to wom- 
en. A large building for their accommodation 
is in process of erection, and will be completed 
within a year, at the cost of ^150,000. It will 
provide dormitories to accommodate 200, and 
lecture-rooms for physiology, embryology, and 
kindred subjects. 

Cornell University has just entered upon its 
fifth year. The entering class numbers 200, in- 
cluding a dozen ladies. The M'Graw building 
is just finished, and the libraries and cabinets 
are being arranged in it. The library consists 
now of 8G,000 volumes, including the Jared 
Sparks collection, recently added. Important 
additions in French, German, Italian, and Span- 
ish literature have been made this summer. A 
course of lectures bv Mr. J. A. Froude was be- 
gun late in October. 

The Board of Overseers of Harvard Univer- 
sity have resolved hereafter to hold annual ex- 
aminations of women, similar to those already 
held by the University of Cambridge in England. 
The corporation submitted a scheme, and the 
overseers have just adopted it. There will be 
two classes of candidates, those under eighteen, 
and those above that age. Certificates are to 
be given to those who pass the examination, 
and "certificates of honor" — so discriminated — 
to those who pass "with credit." The tend- 
ency of this system will be to elevate the stand- 

ml «. 

ard of scholarship in girls' schools. The first 
examination is to take place next June. 

It is estimated that from 12,000 to ] 5,000 
negroes voted in each of the States of Ohio 
and Pennsylvania at the recent elections. This 
fact, and the political importance of the ne- 
gro vote in the South, suggest the necessity of 
greater elforts for the education of the colored 
race. The efforts at enlightenment of the freed- 
men have, so far, amounted to but little. The 
Freedmen's Bureau, out of its thirteen millions 
of d(jllars, expended three and a half millions 
only for educational purposes. The exhausted 
Southern States could not do much, while North- 
ern liberality expended about four millions. The 
total expense, divided among nearly five millions 
of people, during a period of ten years, shows an 
annual outlay of less than a dollar for each teacli- 
able youth. Since emancipation the negro child 
has had less than a tenth of the advantages en- 
joyed by the New England child. 

The epidemic among horses, after making 
fearful ravages in Canada, has visited the Unit- 
ed States, and threatens serious results. It was 
reported from Boston, Buffalo, Rochester, and 
Syracuse early in October, and about the middle 
of the month had reached New York city. 


An accident occurred, October 3, on the East 
Tennessee, Virginia, and Georgia Railway, in 
which a train fell through a trestle, killing one 
man and injuring twenty- seven others, some 
slightly and others very seriously. 

The ladies' car on an express train on the 
Paducah and Elizabethtown Railroad jumped 
the track, October 10, eight miles from Pacudah, 
and went down an embankment forty feet, land- 
ing bottom upward. It contained about twenty 
persons, nearl}'' all of whom were more or less 
injured. Two were killed outiight. 

A Pullman train on the Eastern Railroad ran 
into a freight train October 22. Two passen- 
gers were killed and twenty injured. 


Rev. Peier Cartwright, one of the oldest and 
most widely known Methodist preachers in 
America, died September 25 at his home, near 
Pleasant Plains, Sangamon County, Illinois, aged 
eighty-seven years. 

Rev. Francis Vinton, D.D., a well-knoAvn and 
esteemed clergyman of the Protestant Episcopal 
Church, died at his residence in Brooklyn Sep- 
tember 29, aged sixty-three years. 

Francis Lieber, I.L.D., Professor of Constitu- 
tional History and Political Science in Colum- 
bia College Law School, and one of the most dis- 
tinguished American waiters on government and 
civil law, died of heart-disease at his residence 
in New York, October 2, aged seventy-two years. 

Brevet Brigadier- General Ilartman Bache, 
colonel of engineers in the army of the United 
States, died in Philadelphia October 8, aged sev- 
enty-five years. 

The Hon. William H. Seward died at his resi- 
dence in Auburn, New Y'ork, October 10, aged 
seventy-two years. 

Mrs. Sarah Payson Willis Parton, better knoAvn 
as "Fanny Fern," died at her residence in New 
York, October 10, aged sixty-one years. 


The submarine cable between Jamaica and 
Panama is in working order. Governor Gray, 
of Madras, is to succeed Sir Peter Grant as 
Governor of Jamaica. 

In Cuba next year the war taxes on exports 
are to be doubled, and on imports increased from 
ten to twenty-five per cent. 

In Mexico Lerdo de Tejada's election as Pres- 
ident is regarded as certain. All the revolution- 
ary chiefs except Diaz and Guerra have accepted 
the amnesty offered by the government. 


The disposition of the leading British states- 
men is to loyally accept the award of the Geneva 
Arbitration Tribunal, notwithstanding Chief Jus- 
tice Cockburn's dissenting argument, which claims 
that the new rules ado})ted in the Washington 
Treaty ought to have been interpreted in a Pick- 
wickian sense. Robert Lowe, Chancellor of the 
Exchequer, in a recent speech denounces Cock- 
burn's argument; and Sir John Coleridge. At- 
torney-General, says of the result of the arbitra- 

j tion that England has got well out of a bad busi- 
ness. Sir Roundell Palmer, one of the arbitra- 
tors, succeeds Lord Hatlierlyas Lord Chancellor, 

I He is in symi)atliy witli JNlr. Gladstone, though 



he was opposed to the disestablishment of the 
Anglican Church in Ireland, and great expecta- 
tions are entertained of important law reforms 
through his promotion to the woolsack. 

The agitation for the disestablishment of the 
English Church in England is fairly begun. A 
conference was held in Birmingham early in Oc- 
tober, in which JMr. Miall, the great Dissenter, 
took a prominent part. A fresh incentive is 
given to the movement by the discontent which 
prevails in regard to the working of the new Ed- 
ucation act, which inseparably connects secular 
with religious instruction. 

The Scotch Educational Settlement (by the 
act of August G, 1872) aims to give every child 
the rudiments of knowledge, to destroy clerical 
ascendency in the schools, and to foster institu- 
tions of secondary education preliminary to uni- 
versity training. The act ordains absolute com- 
pulsion, thus differing from the English Settle- 
ment. The bill of 1861 had struck a blow at 
clerical ascendency in the schools by the abo- 
lition of tests for school-masters. The present 
act goes farther, and substitutes for the min- 
isters and heritors, as school directors, boards 
elected by the rate-payers. But it does not ex- 
clude religious teaching; and the consequence 
will be that sectarian considerations will enter 
into the election of school boards, and the Pres- 
byterian clergy will have the same influence over j 
popular education in Scotland that the Anglican i 
clergy have in England, The turn of Ireland, 
and the triumph of the Roman Catholic priests, 
comes next in order ; for one of the most im- 
portant questions that will come before Parlia- 
ment next session will be that of Irish educa- 
tion. The Romanists demand a denominational 
system, basing this claim on the fact that out of 
1,021,700 children on the rolls of the national 
schools 821,769 are Romanist — 80 per cent, of 
the whole number. 

Chancellor Lowe's financial exhibit shows a 
reduction of £9,000,000 in annual taxes since 
1868, and a reduction of the national debt by 
£15,000,000. The telegraphs have been bought 
for £8,(jr)0,000, and prove a good investment. 
The number of people in the English work-houses 
has diminished by 106,000 since 1870, and the 
London vagrants have been diminished from 1492 
in September, 1870, to 495 in September, 1872. 

Recent advices report bad harvests generally 
in Great Britain. The grain crops have fallen 
off both as to quantity and quality. The pota- 
toes have been affected by disease to the extent 
of from oO to 80 per cent. 

The discontent among the agricultural labor- 
ers in England has directed to this class a de- 
gree of attention which it has never before re- 
ceived. The agricultural laborer earns from 
twelve to fourteen shillings per week, and, 
owing to the general advance in the prices of 
the necessaries of life, he is reduced to pauper- 
ism. Naturally tiiis subject reawakens the agi- 
tation of the land question. Lord Napier, in his 
address before the Social Science Association, in 
September, stated the question very strongly. 
" Primogeniture, entail, traditional predilections, 
the exigencies of fashion and recreation, and the 
accumulation of capital," he said, "are working 
incessantly together to promote the aggregation 
of land m the hands of a few." "It would be 
hazardous to estimate the number of estates 

above the dimensions of a garden or a paddock 
at more than 100,000." "The proportion of 
those who possess to those who possess nothing 
is probably smaller in some parts of England at 
this time than ever it was in any settled com- 
munity, except in some republics of antiquity, 
where the business of mechanical industry was 
relegated to slaves." He showed that in this 
matter England was behind nearly every other 
civilized country. In Erance the number of free- 
holders was nearly as large as that of cultiva- 
tors. Prussia, since 1811, when the Stein and 
Ilardenburg legislation gaA-e the death-blow to 
villeinage and feudal tenures in that country, 
had developed a large class of cultivating free- 
holders. The imperial edict emancipating 
60,000,000 Russian serfs was accompanied by a 
provision enabling the new-made freemen to ac- 
quire a direct interest in the soil. Even in India, 
where for some years he governed an important 
province, he showed that diffused tenure of the 
soil, whether individual or common (as in the 
village communes), told the tale of its beneficent 
effects in the dignity and self-respect — the man- 
liness of bearing — evinced in the manners of the 
ryots (peasant cultivators) enjoying its advan- 

An explosion took place in a coal mine at 
Morley, in England, October 7, by which forty 
j miners were killed. In 1871 there were 826 fa- 
1 tal accidents in British collieries — one miner kill- 
ed to each 109,246 tons of coal raised, 

A frightful charge is brought against a woman 
in England of having poisoned some twenty per- 
sons — the children of four families (two of them 
her own, and two families of step-children be- 
sides), as well as her mother, two husbands, and 
another man to whom she was not legally mar- 
ried (her third husband being alive at the time 
of her marriage, though without the knowledge 
of this man, who believed himself her husband), 
and finally, a lodger in her last house. 

The Prussian government gave the inhal)itanfs 
of Alsace-Lorraine the option during a limited 
period to emigrate or remain, subject to con- 
scription for military service. By the time the 
option had expired but a bare remnant of the 
original population was left. Metz, which before 
the war had a population of 50,000, I'etains only 
10,000. " Germany sees without regret," says 
the North-German Gazette, with brutal candor, 
" those long trains of exiles who in the last days 
have turned their backs on the empire and set 
their faces toward Erance, whither their interests 
and sympathies lead them." 

The Old Catholic Congress met at Cologne in 
September. There were present 423 delegates. 
The main discussion centred about two points — 
a reform consisting in the abolition of surplice 
fees and payment for masses, and the putting 
away of indulgences, saint worship, etc, and 
the validity of civil marriage. 

The breach between the Prussian government 
and the Roman Catholic Church in Ermeland 
seems to be complete. The Minister of Public 
Instruction, Dr, Ealk, has intimated to the Bish- 
op of Ermeland that the state can not pay the 
sahiry of a bishop who will not conform to the 
laws, and as almost all the priests' income comes 
through the bishop, the Roman Catholic Church 
in the diocese of I'j moland is virtually disestab- 
lished and disendowed. 



The population of Prussia is in the proportion 
of eleven Protestants to seven Catholics; in Ger- 
many it is twenty-live to fifteen ; and in each case 
the majority is s'o large that the greatest caution 
has to be observed in dealing with the relations 
of state and church. 

The great mass of the German population have 
not benefited, but sufiered, by the increase of na- 
tional wealth accruing from the French indem- 
nity. Every thing has become dearer since Ger- 
many crushed her old enemy, and wages have not 
risen in proportion to the advance of prices. The 
treasure wrested from France has been spent upon 
armaments ; the people have had none of it, even 
indirectly by the taking off of taxes. In Berlin 
such is the rise in rent that thousands of labor- 
ers are driven from the city, and there is great 
popular discontent. 

There have lately been heavy and successful 
strikes in Belgium. At Antwerp, Brussels, 
Ghent, and other cities, the journeymen masons, 
tailors, shipwrights, and others, have been in 
fidl revolt, and the masters have in general been 
forced to agree to their demands. It is reported 
by the British consul at Antwerp that there are 
twenty thousand working-men's households in 
Belgium in the condition of being absolutely un- 
able to meet their very humble expenses. There 
are said to be over two hundred thousand work- 
men in Belgium who earn three francs, or sev- 
enty-five cents, a day — which is manifestly 
thought a good deal. 

General Hazen, in his recent work, "The 
School and the Army, "points out the real causes 
of the French defeat in 1870. France is now 
fully awakened to the necessity of reorganizing 
her army, and of a thorough educational reform. 
The law for the reorganization of the army 
passed by the Assembly last session applies the 
principle of universal military service. In re- 
gard to education, the majority of the Councils- 
General have recently pronounced for the appli- 
cation of the compulsory principle, though they 
hesitate to support compulsory secular and gra- 
tuitous education. 

The greater proportion of works recently pub- 
lished in France bearing upon national rehabili- 
tation are of a religious character, directing at- 
tention to the Roman Catholic Church as the 
only hope of the nation. The pilgrimage to 
Lourdes, to the shrine of Our Lady of Salette, 
in which thousands upon thousands of devotees 
participated, is an attempt on the part of the 
priesthood to revive its ancient power. But it is 
a desperate expedient, and a revelation of weak- 
ness. As a political demonstration it is worse 
than a failure. 

The French government prohibited any cele- 
bration of the 22d of September — the anniver- 
sary of the downfall of the empire — even in pri- 
vate banquets. But M. Gambetta, prevented 
from presiding over a banquet at Chambery, 
fully declared himself at Grenoble. His speech 
was not a violent one, but, as it advised the 
people to trust only to true and tried republic- 
ans, it was offensive to the Assembly, which is 
predominantly monarchist. 

While the French have had this year an un- 
usually abundant harvest, a plentiful vintage has 
been denied them, owing, first, to the unfavor- 
able weather that prevailed early last summer, 
and even lately, in all the more important vine- 

growing districts ; and secondly, to the ever- 
increasing ravages of the o'idium and the Phyl- 
loxera vastatrix — the depredations of which lat- 
ter disease are spreading to such a frightful ex- 
tent in the south of France that recently M. 
Dumas, the well-known chemist, announced to 
the Acade'mie des Sciences that in a few years 
the vineyards of Provence will have ceased to 
exist if some means are not promptly taken to 
arrest its progress. He asked that a prize of 
£20,000 should be offered by the state to who- 
soever should discover the means of efficaciously 
preventing such a disaster. 

The French Post-office has under considera- 
tion the establishment of a general international 
system of money-orders. 

Prince Napoleon Bonaparte has been exiled 
from France. 

One of Spain's greatest buildings, the Escu- 
rial, the great monastery built by Philip II., in 
the form of an upturned gridiron, and dedicated 
to St. Lawrence, some thirty miles from Madrid, 
has had even a narrower escape from destruc- 
tion than had Canterbury Cathedral a few weeks 
earlier, and appears to have been much more se- 
riously damaged. It was struck by lightning on 
October 2, and the flames spread in the direc- 
tion of the palace, library, and church. Special 
trains with engines and firemen were sent from 
Madrid to extinguish the flames, in which they 
succeeded, after the fire had destroyed two of the 
towers and some of the roofs. The damage is 
said to be estimated at some £30,000. The li- 
brary and other stores of valuable objects were 
not injured. The damage, though sufficiently 
great, is small compared with the alarm. Some 
notion of the size of the Escurial may be gather- 
ed from the fact that it is said to contain 14,000 
doors and 11,000 windows, and the original cost 
of the building was estimated to be 6,000,000 
ducats, or, say, over £1,000,000 sterling. 

The Spanish Senate, September 26, elected 
Sefior Figuerola president, by a vote of 58 to 3. 
Senor Rivero was chosen president of the Cortes 
by a vote of 170 to 30. The vice-presidents and 
secretaries of the last Cortes were re-elected. 

The Congress, or Lower Chamber, of the 
Cortes has, by a vote of 161 against 57, re- 
fused to consider the amendment offered by a 
republican member to the address to the king 
asking for the emancipation of slaves. The 
resolution providing for the abolition of capital 
punishment for political offenses has been re- 
jected by a vote of 99 against 58. 

About the middle of October an insurrection 
broke out among the garrison of the Spanish 
arsenal at Ferrol, m Corunna, which assumed 
somewhat formidable dimensions, but was final- 
ly suppressed by the government forces. 

Disastrous inundations are reported to have 
occurred on the banks of the Po. 


The Right Hon. Sir James S. Willes, one of 
the judges of the Court of Common Pleas, in 
England, committed suicide October 3. 

The Rev. Jean Henri INIerle d'Aubigne, the 
eminent historian, died at Geneva October 21, 
aged eighty years. 

J\I. The'opiiile Gautier, the celebrated French 
poet, novelist, and critic, died in Paris October 
24, aged sixty-one years. 

(BMtor's Drnuier. 

OUR L0:S-130^^ SCR^F-JBOOK. 

4 NDER this title we propose 
to give a niiml)er of pen 
and pencil sketches illus- 

trative of London life and 
character. And in so doing we intend no compe- 
tition either with those ponderous tomes which and every flag-stone in Brick Court will remind 

St. James's shall not 
repel us by its glitter, 
nor St. Giles's by its 

We will visit no place 
that is not interesting 
per se. Memories are 
very delightful things. 
But the fact that Byron 
lived in Ilollis Street is 
insufficient to give a 
present charm to that 
quiet little way. Nor 
does the fact that Hen- 
ry Ilallnm resided in 
Wimpole Street, and 
that Tennyson has im- 
mortalized the fact in 
the "In Memoriam," 
l>rove sufficiently ab- 
sorbing to demand a 
description of the chill 
and dismal respectabili- 
ty of that most dec- 
orous of thoroughfares. 
Not even poor Albert 
Smith's joke concern- 
ing it can kindle a 
J- park of interest : " All 
things earthly have an 
end — except Upper 
Wimpole Street." At 
the same time, we have 
no Intention of silen- 
cing memories when, in 
spite of us, they occur. 
Standing al)ove the 
dome of St. Paul's, we 
are sure to call to mind 

s?^:>fii3^fiMMjin[t^^ ^^^^ Decker's advice to 

the " gull"— as he calls 
him — of Queen Elizabeth's time : " Take hecde 
how you looke downe into the yarde, for the 
rails are as rotten as your great-grandfather." 
Walking in Fleet Street it will be impossil)le to 
remain oblivious of the memory of Dr. Johnson ; 

learnedly describe the city as it used to be, or 
those more modest brochures in which its pres- 
ent architectural beauties are faithfully portray- 
ed. In setting out we announce no matured 
system of investigation, nor have we any such. 
We solemnly abjure any settled plan. Led by 
fancy or by accident, we shall wander into all 
sorts of localities at all sorts of times. To- 
night we may be in a thieves' kitchen, and 
to-morrow at an aristocratic wedding in Han- 
over Square ; now we will be in the stalls of the 
Opera-house, and anon struggling up the rickety 
stairs of an East End theatre. Birdcage Walk 
may possibly have as many points of interest as 
Kotten Row. Kensington Gardens shall not bo 
shunned by us because of their virtue, nor the 
Haymarket because of its vice. The former pre- 
sent many a subject both for author and for art- 
ist ; and the latter — well, as Rossetti sings, 

"Every night, be it dry or wet, 
Is inurket-night in the Ilaymarket," 

us of Oliver Goldsmith. Newgate and the Old 
Bailey suggest Captain Macheath, Polly Peach- 
um, and the other entertaining characters in the 
" Beggars' Opera," and we find ourselves uncon- 
sciously humming, with the unconscionable cap- 

" TTow happy could I he with cither, 
Were t'other dear charmer away !" 

As we pass the site of Will's Coffee-house we 
imagine ourselves surrounded by ghosts dressed 
in bag-wigs and knee-breeches, and dis])layiug 
swords and snuff-boxes — and then echoes of the 
old-world oaths, '"slife," '"sdeath," "gadsbud," 
float about our ears. 11ie spot where Tom King's 
Coffee-house once stood may possibly present 
Hogarth's cartoon to the mind's eye. And Drury 
Lane will waken a thousand theatrical reminis- 

But it is not with ghosts that we have to do 
most of all, nor are we over-anxious to illustrate 
the mvsterious law of " ;^ssociation of ideas." 


\\q want to ])resent, 
if possible, tlie people 
of the I^oiidoii of to- 
day. Ill each locality 
we wish to describe 
the most cliaracteristic 
denizens — the individ- 
uals who partake most 
largely of the genius of 
the i)lace. Ben Jonson 
was wont to describe 
the dramatis personce 
of his comedies by a 
splendid word. He 
called them "humors." 
Shadwell afterward 
nsed the term as de- 
scribing the characters 
in Jiis plays. It has 
since fallen into disuse. 
Now we would fain de- 
scribe a few of the "hu- 
mors" of the British 
metropolis. We make 
no pretense to deep 
psychological skill. If 
by means of pen and 

pencil we succeed in presenting some London 
scenes as they appeared to our own eyes — if we 
can present The Cockney of to-day with some- 
thing like fidelity — w«. shall have accomplished, 
however unskillfully, the undertaken task. 

Apiiopos of the season, thus writeth an old 
poet : 

Winter! I love thee, for thou com'st to me 

Laden with joys congenial to my mind, 
Books that with bards and solitude agree, 

And all those virtues which adorn manldnd. 
What though the meadows, and the neighboring hills. 

That rear their cloudy summits in the skies — 
What tliough the woodland brooks and lowland rills. 

That charmed our ears and gratified our eyes, 
In thy forlorn habiliments appear ? 

What though the zephyrs of the summer-tide, 
And all the softer beauties of the year, 

Are fled and gone, kind Heaven has not denied 
Our books and studies, music, conversation, 
And evening parties for our recreation. 

It would be difficult to present a finer speci- 
men of the humor and coolness of the Nevada 
man than in the following pleasing incident, re- 
lated to the Drawer by one of the most brilliant 
of the younger poets and writers of the day : 
Mr. Nordquist, entertaining certain opinions on 
a particular subject that were different from 
those entertained by his neighbor Colonel Wag- 
ner, conceived it to be his duty to maintain them 
in the free but somewhat abrupt manner that ob- 
tains in that region. The result of this variance 
is thus described by Mr. Nordquist in a letter to 
his friend Captain A , at Nevada City : 

My beak Captain,— I have just had a slight misun- 
derstanding with Colonel Wagner, which resulted in 
my shooting him. Afterward, in a movunt of excite- 
ment, I Hcaiped liim. Will you do me the favor to see 
that no exafftjerated accoant of the affair gets into the 
newspapers ? Truly yours, 

II. Nordquist. 

Judge Noaii Davis, at present United States 
District Attorney for the Southern District of 
New York, adds to fine legal acumen the rare 
social qualification of being a capital raconteur. 
The Drawer happened to be seated opposite to 

him at a modest dinner not long since, when lie 
related an incident of his professional experience 
that occurred a few years ago at Canandaigua. 
Patrick M'Gooren had been arraigned before the 
Oyer and Terminer on an indictment for grand 
larceny. By direction of his counsel he pleaded 
"Not guilty." The first wellness called by the 
District Attorney to prove the charge was Tim- 
othy O Sullivan. No sooner did JM'Gooren hear 
the sound of that name, and a moment after- 
ward see the form of Tim going to the witness- 
stand, than he arose and said, "May it plaze 
the Coort, I want to withdraw that play of ' Not 

" For what purpose ?" inquired the judge. 
' ' I want to plade ' Guilty. ' " 
" Whv do vou wish to do that ?" 
" IFAo/?/ ? BeJcase I want to save Tim 0' Sul- 
livan s sold .' " 

There is a certain style of legal gentleman 
well known to the profession and to business 
men as the "collecting lawyer" — very respect- 
able, very industrious, and often quite success- 
ful. One of our leading wholesale houses hav- 
ing an unsettled claim against a Western cus- 
tomer (one of the tardy kind), sent it down to 
the office of the collecting person with instruc- 
tions to have it put through Avith all the celerity 
consistent with legal purity. The lawyer for- 
warded it to an attorney who had been recom- 
mended to him in the town where the dilator}' 
tradesman resided, and in due time received the 
following reply, which, though sufficiently con- 
cise, was not regarded as encouraging : 

Dkak Sir, — You will never get any spondulick 
from Ebenezer Weatherby, The undersigned cjillod 
upon him yesterda.v, and" found him with nary tilo, 
his feet upon the naked earth, and not clothes enough 
upon him to wad a gun. lie was whistling, and so 
may you. Affectionately yours, 

Aristides Cobb. 

Some very amusing things (writes a corre- 
spondent at Stockton, California) happened dur- 
ing the session of the Idaho Legislature held in 


the winter of 1870-71. Among them this is 
worthy of preservation : 

A certain lady having become weaiy of the 
companions-hip of a drunken husband, thought 
she might obtain a divorce in a shorter and 
cheaper way than by applying to the courts. 
Some friends of hers, members of the Legisla- 
ture, accordingly drafted a bill, and presented it 
to the consideration of the "House." It met 
with a favorable reception, and was put upon its 
first, second, and third readings, and passed 
without even the formality of sending it to a 
committee. One of the members, who was a 
little disgusted with this summary way of usurp- 
ing the proper duty of a court, and who had voted 
against the bill, arose and said, 

" Mr. Speaker, I rise to a point of order. I 
am summoned to attend a meeting of one of the 
committees of this honorable body, of which I 
am chairman. I have a wife at home, of whom 
I am very fond. I beg the House not to divorce 
me from her during my ahsence.^^ 

The recent death of that pioneer of Method- 
ism -in the West, the Kev. Peter Cartwright, 
brings to the surface many characteristic anec- 
dotes of that remarkable man. Here are a few 
which will be new to most of our readers : 

Cartwright used to relate the following anec- 
dote of a Dutchman's cross : The Rev. Mr. Lee 
was preaching from the text, "Except a man 
de'ny himself, and take up the cross, he can not 
be my disciple." In the congregation were a 
Dutchman and his Erau, the latter of whom was 
a notorious scold. They were deeply touched 
by Mr. Lee's preaching. After service Mr. Lee 
mounted his horse and started for his evening 
appointment. After riding some distance he 
saw a little ahead of him a man trudging along 
carrying a woman on his back. The traveler 
was a small man, the woman large and heavy. 
Mr. Lee rode up and found that it was the Dutch- 
man, carrying his scolding wife. " You did tell 
us," said the Dutchman, " dat we must take 
up de cross, or we could not be saved, and dish 
Avoman is de greatest cross I have." 

While on tlic Iloclibocking circuit Cart- 
wright was disturbed one Sunday morning at 
camp-meeting by the advent of a gang of roughs. 
When he was about half tln-ough his discourse 
two young men entered, finely dressed, with 
loaded whips, and began to laugh and talk to 
the women. Cartwright ordered them to desist, 
and called for a magistrate. Tlie officers of the 
law were afraid to interfere, and Cartwright ad- 
vanced on the ruffians. What followed is re- 
lated in his own words : 

" One of them made a pass at my head with 
his whip, but I closed in with him, and jerked 
him oft" the seat. I threw him down, and held 
him fast. He tried his best to get loose. I told 
him to be quiet, or I would pound his chest well. 
The mob rushed to the rescue of the prisoner, 
and a drunken magistrate ordered me to release 
him. I refused, and he swore he would knock 
me down. I told him to knock away. A friend, 
at my request, relieved me of my prisoner. The 
drunken justice made a pass at me. I parried 
the stroke, seized him by the collar, brought him 
to the ground, and jumped on him. I told him 
to be quiet or I would pound him well. The mob 

DRAW^ER. 157 

rushed up and knocked down several preachers. 
I gave my prisoner to another, and the ring- 
leader and I met. He made three passes at me, 
and I gave him a blow in the ear, and dropped 
him to the earth." 

The struggle resulted in a victory for the Meth- 
odist, and the fines and costs collected from the 
captured rowdies amounted to nearly $300. 

Peter Cartwright had a horror of whisky, 
and of whisky-drinking preachers. He says : 

"While settled in Christian County a person 
calling himself a Baptist preacher called to stay 
all night with me. He was accompanied by his 
son. I disposed of their horses as best I could, 
and they partook of our fare. After supper they 
both stepped into another room, and when they 
returned I smelled whisky very strongly. Al- 
though those were not days of general temper- 
ance, I thought it a bad sign, but said nothing. 
He declined to join in evening prayer. In the 
morning, as soon as morning prayer was over, 
he again took out his bottle, and asked me to 
take a dram. I declined. On leaving, he said, 
'Perhaps, brother, you charge?' 

" 'Yes,' said I, 'all whisky-loving preachers 
who will not pray with me, I charge.' " 

Cartwright, though not a radical Abolition- 
ist, had very swelling views of the equality of 
mankind. One day when he was preaching in 
Nashville General Jackson entered the church. 
Another preacher whispered, a little loud, "Gen- 
eral Jackson has come in — General Jackson has 
come in." 

Cartwright said, audibly, "Who is General 
Jackson? If he don't get his soul converted, 
God will damn him as quick as he would a 
Guinea negro." 

The congregation. General Jackson and all, 
smiled and laughed outright. The resident 
preacher told Cartwright that General Jackson 
would chastise him. The general, on the con- 
trary, expiessed himself highly pleased with his 
independence. "A minister of Jesus Christ," 
said Jackson, "ought to love every body, and 
fear no mortal man." 

The Silver Wedding of the Rev. Henry Ward 
Beecher and Plymouth Church was celebrated 
wdth great rejoicings during the early part of 
October last. In one of the sketches of the early 
career of Mr. Beecher we find this anecdote : 

When first sent away to school he was found 
to be an inveterate joker (and he has never got 
over that), and not much given to study. One 
day his teacher, in trying to make clear to him 
the difference between the definite and indefinite 
article, gave as an illustration this, "You can 
say a man, but you can't say a men." 

"Oh yes, I can,"" was Henry's prompt re- 
sponse. " I say amen often, and my father says 
it at the end of all his prayers." 

On another occasion, when asked what made 
the neap tides, he replied, philosophical!}', that 
he supposed they occurred when the sun stoj^ped 
to spit on his hands. By dint of considerable 
rushing, however, Henry was got ready, and did 
enter Amherst College at the age of fifteen. 
Upon this event his venerable father observed, 
in confidence, " I will have that boy in the min- 
istry yet." In college Mr. Beecher entirely laid 

aside his indifferent habits, became a good clas- 
sical scholar, got well up in philosophy and 
metaphysics, and although the English theolog- 
ical writers were his most frequent companions, 
the old humorists did not escape him. 

Thet have a novel and truly orthodox way 
of "putting through" a transgressing "rough" 
at a Western camp-meeting. Recently at one 
of these meetings, held near Chicago, a gang of 
rowdies were present, bent on mischief. They 
agreed that at the next call for mourners about 
twenty of them should go and bow at the altar. 
At the appointed word their leader, well charged 
with Bourbon, started. As he knelt at the rail- 
ing he looked round, and saw that not one of his 
men had followed him. 

The keen eye of the presiding elder"had been 
watching the movement, and he was prepared 
for the emergency. Hastening to the man, he 
bent over him, and in a firm, low tone said, 
"You rascal! I know what you came here for. 
I've been watching you for half an hour past. 
Now if you arise from your knees before I tell 
you, the sheriff is standing just behind you, and 
has orders to arrest you." That good presiding 
elder kept that unrepentant vagabond kneeling 
just two hours, and then permitted him to arise 
and depart in peace. 

Father B , the Catholic priest of Con- 
cord, New Hampshire, whose large, round, clean- 
shaved, pleasant face is always welcomed by 
Catholic and Protestant, on his return from Sar- 
atoga last season arrived in Boston with a beard 
of two days' growth, giving his face the appear- 
ance of a half-round card-stripper. Stej)ping 

into a barber's shop as the barber and his assist- 
ant were about closing for dinner, he took posses- 
sion of the chair and called for a shave. " John," 
said the barber, "you must stay and shave this 
man." John, with an ill-natured frown he did 
not care to conceal, threw aside his coat, snatch- 
ed up a towel, and coming the " front face" to 
the reverend gentleman, took a long look at the 
broad, upturned face before him, and blurted out, 
"How is this thing to be done ? By the day, 
or by the job ?" 

That muscular Christianity — or Christian 
muscularity — is a qualification very desirable to 
a frontier missionary is well illustrated in one 
of the foregoing anecdotes of the late venerable 
Peter Cartwright, as also in the experience 
and history of other preachers. Those widely 
known missionaries of the Ameiican Sunday- 
school Union, Stephen Paxson and his son "Will- 
iam, are men of stature, largely endowed with 
brawn. The latter in a recent tour found lodg- 
ing, after the manner of IMissouri hospitality, 
with a whisky-drinking, tobacco-spitting, surly 
specimen of humanity, who, after some pecuhar 
preliminaries, inquired, 

" Beg pardon, stranger, but who are you ?" 

" A Sunday-school missionary, Sir." 

"Well, now you have got me: please illus- 

The missionary explained. 

" Oh, I reckon you're the chap that started 
that kind of school over to Jones's neighborhood, 
and they set a heap by it. Some fellers went 
there to break up the meetin', but they got afeard 
when they saw the feller that started it. They said 
he Avas big as a horse, and could whip his weight 



in wild-cats. Well, they say them fellers now is 
just like lambs, sittin' in a class and readin' the 
Bible every Sunday." 

The missionary talked religion and prayed 
with the family, and arranged to start a Sunday- 
school as good as the one " over to Jones's." 

Every city (writes a Richmond, Virginia, 
cbrrespondent) has its own share of eccentric 
characters. Of this class was a most respectable 
artisan of my native place, Avhose manner of ex- 
pressing himself was at times so remarkable that 
his sayings were repeated from mouth to mouth 
until they became almost household words. He 
was deeply interested in the politics of the day, 
and contrived to be present at all public meet- 
ings. At one time a certain party desired to 
elect a new superintendent of the water- works. 
The then incumbent resided a little way in the 
country. At a meeting where the question was 
discussed our friend made a speech in favor of 
the new candidate, from which I subjoin an ex- 
tract : 

""Fellow-citizens, suppose all at once, simul- 
taneously, at the same time, a great big fire was 
to break out in them redundant tenements in 

Brick Row, whar is G H ? Out at his 

rural retreat in the country, concocted up by the 
side of his liberal wife and contumacious daugh- 
ters, before a bistuminous coal fire, reading the 
literary periodnums of the day, with the keys 
of the reservoir in his breeches pocket ! Thar 
is G H !" 

Not bad this, from the London Figaro : 

The great Pacific journey I have done; 

In many a town and tent I've found a lodgment. 
I think I've traveled to the setting sun, 

And very nearly reached the day of judgment! 
Like Launcelot, in the quest of Holy Grail, 

From Western Beersheha to Yankee Dan 
I've been a seeker, yet I sadly fail 

To find the genuine type American. 

Where is this object of my youthful wonder, 

Who met me in the pages of Sam Slick? 
Who opened every sentence with By thunder! 

And whittled always on a bit of stick? 
The more the croAvd of friends around me thickens, 

The less my chance to meet him seems to be. 
Why did he freely show himself to Dickens, 

To Dixon, Sala, Trollope, not to me ? 

No one accosts me with the words, Wa'al, stranger ! 

Greets me as Festive cuss, or shouts Old boss ! 
No grim six-shooter threatens me with danger 

If I don't " quickly pass the butter, boss." 
Round friendly boards no cock-tail ever passes, 

No brandy-smash my morning hour besets; 
And petticoats are worn by all the lasses, 

And the pianos don'f wear pantalettes ! 

The ladies, when you olfer chicken-salad, 

Don't say, " I'm pretty crowded now, I guess ;" 
They don't sing Mrs. Barney Williams' ballad 

Of " Bobbing Round," nor add Sir-ree to Yes. 
I, too, have sat like every other fellow. 

In many a railway, omnibus, street car; 
No girl has spiked me with a fierce umbrella. 

And said, "You git— I mean to sit right thar!" 

Gone are the Yankees of my early reading! 

Faded the Yankee-land of eager quest ! 
I meet with culture, courtesy, good-breeding, 

Art, letters, men, and women of the best. 
Oh! fellow-Britons, all my hopes are undone; 

Take counsel of a disappointed man ! 
Don't come out here, but stay at home in London, 

And seek in books the true American ! 

A CITY correspondent writes : 

Some three or four years ago, when I was one 

morning riding down town in the cars, Judge 
Edmonds was a passenger sitting on the seat op- 
posite to me. A gentleman got in and sat down 
by his side, and I could easily overhear the con- 
versation between them. 

The new passenger was evidently a spiritualist, 
for he inquired of the judge about the progress 
of the cause, etc. In the course of the conver- 
sation I heard the judge inquire, "Did you 
know that Horace Greeley was a spiritualist ?" 

The gentleman answered, "No! is he, in- 
deed ?" 

The judge answered, "He must be one, and 
of the best kind— a practical one." 

" How so?" was the response. 

"Why," said the judge, "you know that our 
doctrine is that every man makes his own heaven 
and his own hell ?" 

"Yes," said the, 

" Well," answered the judge, " there sits Mr. 
Greeley reading the Tribune." ■ 

The following will compare well with those 
gems of infantile observation which have so oft- 
en delighted the readers of the Drawer : 

An incipient citizen of North Bridgeton, 
Maine, ju'st having put off the tof/n juvenilis and 
having assumed the vestis virilis in the form 
and fashion of jacket and trowsers, surveying 
himself downward, remarked, Nuiv I have tico 
legs, just like Sam." 

Another from the infant class . 

Some children at the dinner-table were dis- 
cussing that which has often troubled the heads 
of older and wiser persons. 

"Wasn't Adam a good man before he got a 

" Of course he was," answered a little giil. 
" How long was he a good man after he got 
a wife?" 

"A very short time." 

" What made him a bad man after he got a 

At this juncture a little fellow spoke up, 
"Miss Ann, I can answer that question." 
"Well, what was it?" 
"Eve made him eat the wrong apple." 

Dr. Hammond, in his interesting and philo- 
sophical work on "Sleep and its Derangements," 
has failed to point out the practical way of woo- 
ing "tired nature's sweet restorer," especially 
to the man who will dabble in stocks, and who 
finds himself at times carrying such large 
amounts of "C. C. and I. C," or "Hannibal 
and St. Jo.," or " W. U. T." as to prevent his 
necessary and much-desiderated repose. But 
Mr. Cutting, who formerly filled the honorable 
position of president of the Stock Exchange, has 
in one terse little sentence gone to the root of 
the matter, and given the exact prescription. A 
gentleman who Avas holding a large amount of a 
certain stock said to Mr. Cutting: "1 have so 
much invested in this thing that ft begins to 
trouble me. Indeed, it affects my sleep, and 
sometimes keeps me awake all night. What 
shall I do?" 

"I will tell you," quietly replied Mr. Cutting. 
" Sell down ; sell down ; sell down until you 
can sleep." 

Doctor Cutting had made the correct diagno- 



\ • • 'j ..I'll 


' ' ''I'liiilii'ii. '.ir 


sis. The patient acted upon the advice, and 
" sold down" to that point where he was enabled 
to go to bed and sleep like a gentleman. Dr. 
Hammond never suggested any thing more effi- 

"While General Sherman's command was wait- 
ing on J31ack River for the fall of Vicksburg, in 
order to move on Jackson and drive Joe John- 
ston out, a scouting party one day brought in a 
few prisoners, among whom was a young lieu- 
tenant, an exquisite with long hair and an elabo- 
rate lisp. He was taken to the general's quarters 
and given a seat in front of the tent within Avhich 
General Sherman sat writing. It was a hot sum- 
mer day. Near the tent was a grove of magnolia- 
trees, which soon absorbed the attention of the 
captive. "How beautifully those leaves wave! 
be-utiful — beautiful!" exclaimed he. Sherman 
gave a hitch on his stool and snorted. Soon 
came a repetition of the exclamation. Sherman 
grew more impatient. But when the third ex- 
clamation came he could hold in no longer, but 
burst out : 

" Well, it, can't you let them wave I"' 

The exquisite did. 

A CORRESPONDENT near Topeka, Kansas, 
sends the following: 

One of our new-comers having just established 
himself in the dry-goods trade, put his advertise- 
ment in the paper thus : "A good stock of dry- 
goods just received by John Smith, who wishes 
to get married." 

There was a rush of dimity. 

Lady Davis, in her book, from which we 
ha^■e already (jnotcd, gives us the following 
slightly tough story of the gymnastic pastimes 

of a former Marquis of Clanricarde, who in many 
of his feats outdid the best seen in the circus : 
"When we had sat down to the luncheon pre- 
pared for us Lord Clanricarde, wanting to change 
his place from one side of the large luncheon- 
table to the other, took a flying leap across it, 
and landed on the other side, without the least 
injury to the bottles or glasses or dishes which 
were standing at the moment on it. " 

Imagine that playful little manoeuvre being 
performed over the table at a "swell" dinner- 
party in some Eifth Avenue mansion ! 

Ajiong the gentlemen who figured in the re- 
cent convention of "Straight-Outs" at Louis- 
ville, Kentucky, was Mr. Van , who years 

ago was a student in the law-office of old Judge 
Hathaway, at Elmira. One day a resident 
called on the judge to request him to intercede 
with a justice of the peace m behalf of his son, 
a mere boy, who had been arrested for some 
trivial offense. The judge, being busy, told 
Van to go over and see if he could not pre- 
vent the boy from being sent to jail. On ap- 
pearing Van announced some principles 

of law that were entirely original with him, but 
which the justice ruled as inadmissible, upon 

which Van became irate, and called that 

functionary a fool and an old humbug. The 
judge being a stickler for his dignity, forthwith 

committed Van to jail. A fellow-student 

apprised Judge Hathaway of the fact, and the 
old gentleman reached the jail just as the con- 
stable was about to fulfill his duty. Van , 

mortified at his position, was asked by the judge 
what had happened, and in reply sobbed out, 
"Judge, you sent me over to keep that boy from 
being sent to jail, and I'll be dashed if I haven't 
got there myself 1" 






IT is one of Ruskiu's whimsical notions 
that modem modes of travel and con- 
veyance by sea and laud are the invention 
of the arch enemy of mankind. To the 
same malignant source he attributes also 
every sort of steam-driven machinery. Like 
our own erratic Thoreau, he disbelieves in 
modern civilization, and especially in every 
thing which the world calls "progress." 
With a sincerity unusual in extremists of 
this order, he tries to carry his theory into 
practice. He will never journey by coach 

or railway where a horse can carry him, nor 
by steamboat when he can go by sailing 
vessel. P'rom the little Utopia which lu5 
hopes to build up in England, to be a pat- 

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by Harper and Brothers, in the Office of the Libra- 
rian of Conf^ress, at Washington. 
Vo^. XLVI.— No. 272.— 1 1 




tern to the age, and the beginning of a new 
era, all the abominations of modern inven- 
tion are to be banished. Steam-engines will 
give place to the motive powers ordained by 
Heaven from the foundation of the world — 
wind and water and the muscular force of 
man and beast. Hand-work shall there re- 
sume its old supremacy, and labor-saving 
machines shall be unknown. Mills driven 
by wind or water shall grind the grain, the 
scythe and sickle, the horse or ox drawn 
plow, and the old-fashioned flail shall banish 
all those inventions which have raised agri- 
culture from a drudgery to a science. If 
the Utopians have any thing to sell, they 
will take it to market in horse-carts or boats. 
In short, Mr. Ruskin, who has had the mis- 
fortune to be born some hundreds of years 
too late, would turn the world backward and 
upside down, undo centuries of civilization 
and progress, and re-establish an order of 
things from which humanity has been strug- 
gling away through generations of thought, 
invention, and discovery. 

But Ruskin displays the most earnestness 
in his dislike of modern modes of travel and 
communication. Railways and steamboats 
are the especial objects of his fierce denun- 
ciation. He thinks the British Parliament 
should have prohibited the construction of a 
railway through a beautiful valley in Wales, 
because Wordsworth wrote a fine sonnet 
against the desecration of his accustomed 
haunts ; and he declaims with great zeal 

against the railway which connects 

Venice with the main-land, because 
it interferes with the beauty and ro- 
mance of the approach to the City of 
the Sea. Railways and the telegraph, 
he declares, serve only to make the 
world smaller, and to destroy all that 
is distinctive in national character. 
It can not be denied that, from the 
poetic and imaginative point of view, 
there is a great deal of truth in Rus- 
kin's ideas. Steam has unquestiona- 
bly divested travel of much of its old 
romance ; and to a person of romantic 
temperament the rapidity and con- 
venience which now attend a journey 
to almost every part of the world are 
dearly purchased at such a sacrifice. 

But, in spite of all that may be said 
in favor of such views as those enter- 

tained by Mr. Ruskin, the world is not likely 
to surrender the convenience of modern trav- 
el for the clumsy contrivances which stood 
our ancestors in stead some hundreds of 
years ago. Besides, if we once began this 
business, where should we stop ? How far 
back should we go in discarding modern in- 
ventions ? Mr. Ruskin appears to set the 
limit at the period just before the applica- 
tion of steam as a motive power ; but how 
can we tell what reformer might arise who 
would demand still further retrogression — 
and so on until we should come, on our 
backward pilgrimage, to the first rude at- 
tempts at wheel-carriages which we find 
pictured on Assyrian and Egyptian walls? 
Fancy riding through Central Park, or jolt- 
ing over the pavement of Fifth Avenue, in a 
chariot like this, which several thousands of 
years ago was esteemed a model of elegance 
and luxury ! A modern ox-cart, with its high 
wheels, would afford a far more comfortable 
mode of travel. Even the later Greek and 
Roman wheeled vehicles, with their spring- 
less axles, must have been very uncomforta- 
ble on rough roads, as every one can realize 
who has ever ridden in an old-fashioned 
country lumber wagon. These vehicles were 
chiefly used in war, to grace triumphal pro- 
cessions, and in public games. The war 
chariots used by ancient nations were built 
on the pattern shown in our illustration — 
open above and behind, closed in front, and 
furnished with two wheels upon an axle of 
oak, ash, or elm. The wheels were generally 
about four feet in diameter, and each con- 
sisted of a hub bound with iron, from six to 
ten spokes, a felly of elastic wood, and an 
iron tire. They were fastened to the axle 
by means of iron linchpins. The Lydians 
and Romans sometimes attached several 
spans of horses to their chariots, but the 
Greeks were generally content with one. 
The use of these vehicles in war dates from 
the very earliest historic periods. The an- 
cient Persians, Britons, and Gauls rendered 





them doubly destructive 
and formidable by attach- 
ing long hooks or scythes 
to the hubs. In battle 
the warriors of the high- 
est rank fought with bow 
and arrow or javelin from 
their chariots, sometimes 
descending, in close com- 
bat, to engage in hand-to- 
hand fight with swords. 

Owing to the absence of 
roads, as well as convenient 
means of carriage, there 
was no general spirit of 
travel in ancient times. 
Now and then some adven- 
turer, athirst for knowl- 
edge, made his way into 
far countries, journeying 
on foot, or horseback, or 
by sea, and taking years for an expedition 
which can now be made with comfort and 
safety in a few weeks. There was less 
travel in Euroi)e than in the East, where 
the camel furnished a convenient means of 
transportation, and where the great treeless 
wastes of country offered fewer obstacles 
than the forest-grown regions of the West. 
But all over the earth soldiers and mer- 
chants were the only classes of men who saw 
much of the world beyond their native vil- 
lages and cities. The great mass of people 
lived and died in the place where they 
were born. Beyond their native precincts 
the world was an unknown region, whence 
now and then an adventurous man returned 
with marvelous stories of the wonders he 
had seen and heard. People staid at home 
because the Ineans of travel were confined 
to the very wealthy, outside of the two class- 
es just mentioned. For many centuries there 
was very little improvement in modes of con- 
veyance. Even the luxurious and self-in- 
dulgent " Rois Faineants," or Lazy Kings, of 
France, who flourished in the seventh cen- 
tury of our era — those mere phantoms of roy- 
alty, who passed their lives in sensual pleas- 
ures while the aftairs of state were adminis- 
tered by others — were accustomed to make 


their journeys from place to place in ox- 
carts of the rudest description, resembling 
a common country hay wagon of our time. 
The place of springs was supplied by a lib- 
eral provision of cushions, which saved the 
royal good-for-nothing's sides from bumps 
and bruises as the huge wagon thumped 
and jolted over stones, stumps, and mud- 
holes. Under any circumstances it must 
have been a very uncomfortable method of 

Up to the middle of the sixteenth century 
the most common mode of traveling was on 
horseback, with carriers, and heavy goods 
were conveyed by means of pack-horses. In 
Shakspeare's Henry IV., Act II., Scene I., two 
carriers appear in the inn yard at Rochester. 
One has a gammon of bacon and two razes 
of ginger, to be delivered as far as Charing 
Cross ; the turkeys in the pannier of the oth- 
er are quite starved. We see that people 
traveled in companies, from one of the car- 
riers saying • " Come, neighbor Mugs, we'll 
call up the gentlemen they will along with 
company, for they have great charge ;" and 
that they were on horseback is shown by 
Gadshill bidding the hostler bring his geld- 
ing out of the stable, and one of the travelers 
saying, " The boy shall lead our horses down 




the bill : we'll walk afoot a while, and ease 
our legs." Journeys on foot were rare, even 
at that time, owing to the insecurity of the 
roads, although in the Middle Ages pedes- 
trians on religious pilgrimages were pro- 
tected by the sacredness of their purpose. 

It is not positively known when coaches 
were first brought into use, nor what coun- 
try can justly claim the honor of their in- 
vention. Carriages resembling the old En- 
glish post-chaise, drawn by two horses, upon 
one of which the driver sits, are represented 
in ancient paintings at Herculaueum ; but 
the origin of the coach is sometimes attrib- 
uted to an inventor of the town of Kotzi, 
near Presburg, in Hungary, whence also its 
name is sometimes derived. But carriages 
of several kinds, as we have already seen, 
were in use in very early ages. Covered 
carts, and hammocks hung between four 
wheels, and horse-litters were the most an- 
cient mode of conveyance. The Anglo-Sax- 
ons made use of a hammock carriage for 
great personages, which must have been far 
superior in point of comfort to the boxes on 
wheels mentioned in the earlier part of this 
article. We learn from a work on Domes- 
tic Life in England" that as early as the 
reign of Henry III. coaches were used in 
that country. In 1253 William, third Earl 
of Derby, died of a bruise " taken with a 
fall out of his coach." During Wat Tyler's 
insurrection, in 1380, Ricliard II., " being 
threatened by the rebels of Kent, rode fi'om 
the Tower of London to the Miles End, and 
with him his mother, because she was sick 
and weak, in a whirlecote" — which is sup- 
I)osed to have been a sort of covered car- 
riage. " Chariots covered, with ladies there- 
in," followed the litter in which Queen 
Catherine was borne to her coronation with 
Henry VIII. 

Coaches came into general use in England 
earlier than on the continent of Europe. 
Queen Elizabeth's state carriage was the 
first vehicle which was designated by that 
name in the island. In 1588 the queen rode 
from Somerset House to Paul's Cross, to re- 
turn thanks after the destruction of the 
Spanish Armada, in a coach presented to 
her by Henry, Earl of Arundel. It is de- 
scribed as a chariot throne, drawn by two 
white horses." The royal fashion found 
many imitators; and although the coaches 
of that period must have been clumsy and 
uncomfortable, they multiplied so rapidly 
that Dekker, satirizing the follies of his day, 
complains that "the wife of every citizen 
must be jolted" now — a very expressive 
phrase, since the coaches were made with- 
out springs, and the roads were of the most 
primitive kind. 

But long after the introduction of coaches 
it was considered effeminate and disgraceful 
for men to use them. Queen Elizabeth al- 
ways preferred to make her journeys on 

horseback, and even in old age and sickness 
took reluctantly to her coach. In Sir Phil- 
ip Sidney's time," says Aubrey, ''so famous 
for men at armes, it was then held to be an 
great a disgrace for a young gentleman to 
be seen riding in the street in a coach as it 
would now for such a one to be seen in the 
street in a petticoat and waistcoat ; so much 
is the fashion of the times altered." Like 
most other imjjrovements, coaches were ve- 
hemently attacked, on the ground that they 
promoted effeminate luxury. Taylor, the 
water-poet, declares "that housekeeping 
never decayed till coaches came into En- 
gland and much later, in 1672, a Mr, John 
Cresset wrote a pamphlet urging the aboli- 
tion of the stage-coaches between London 
and the interior. Among other grave rea- 
sons for their suppression, he urged that 
"such stage-coaches make gentlemen come 
to London on every small occasion, which 
otherwise they would not do but ujjon ur- 
gent necessity; nay, the convenience of the 
passage makes their wives often come up, 
who, rather than come such long journeys 
upon horseback, would stay at home. Then, 
when they come to town, they must pres- 
ently be in the mode, get fine clothes, go to 
plays and treats, and by these means get 
such a habit of idleness and love of pleasure 
as make them uneasy ever after." 

We are told also that the shop-keepers 
complained bitterly that they were ruined 
by the coaches. "Formerly," they said, 
" when ladies and gentlemen walked in the 
streets, there was a chance of obtaining cus- 
tomers to inspect and purchase our commod- 
ities ; but now they whisk past in the coach- 
es before our apprentices have time to cry 
out, ' WTiat d'ye lack V " Another complaint 
was, that in former times the tradesmen in 
the principal streets earned as much as their 
rents by letting out their upper apartments 
to members of Parliament and country gen- 
tlemen visiting London on pleasure or busi 
ness, until the noise made by the coaches 
drove the profitable lodgers to less frequent- 
ed streets. Another class of men was scarce- 
ly less bitter against the new mode of loco- 
motion — the boatmen on the Thames, whose 
business was sadly interfered with by the 
introduction of the more convenient ve- 
hicles; and one of their number, who is 
known in English literature as " Taylor, tht^ 
water-poet," wrote an invective against th(^ 
new system, entitled " The World runs upon 
Wheels." In this composition he vigorous- 
ly attacks coaches, and enumerates, in his 
peculiar style, all the disadvantages caused 
by their general introduction. In another 
publication, called "The Thief," he thus in- 
veighs against them : 

" Carroches, coaches, jades, and Flanders mares 
Do rob us of our shares, our wares, our fares : 
Against the ground we stand and knock our heela, 
While all our profit runs away on wheels." 




But public convenience triumpliecl over pri- 
vate interests, and in spite of shop-keep- 
ers and watermen coaches multiplied yearly 
in the streets of London and other English 
cities, and the senseless ojiposition died out. 

The early coaches "were models of clumsi- 
ness, and even so late as the reign of Charles 
11. the improvements consisted mainly in the 
elegance of the trappings, the structure of 
the coach being still rude and cumbersome. 
The grotesque appearance of a state coach 
of this period is admirably hit off by Scott 
in '^Old Mortality." "The lord -lieutenant 
of the county, a personage of ducal rank, 
alone pretended to the magnificence of a 
wheel-carriage, a thing covered with tar- 
nished gilding and sculpture, in shape like 
the vulgar pictures of Noah's ark, dragged 
by eight long-tailed Flanders mares, carry- 
ing eight insides and six outsides. The in- 
sides were their Graces in person ; two maids 
of honor; two children; a chaplain stuffed 
into a sort of lateral recess formed by a pro- 
jection at the door of the vehicle, and called, 
from its appearance, the boot; and an equer- 
ry to his Grace ensconced in a corresponding 
contrivance on the opposite side. A coach- 
man and three postilions, who wore short 
Hwords and tie-wigs with three tails, had 
blunderbusses slung behind them, and pistols 
at their saddle-bow, conducted the equipage ; 
and on the foot-board, behind this moving 
mansion-house, stood, or rather hung, in 
triple pile, six lackeys in rich liveries armed 
up to the teeth." 

At the time of which Sir Walter was 
writing wealthy noblemen traveled in great 
state, with a long retinue of servants and 
trumpeters in advance to announce their ap- 
proach. On state occasions javelin men were 
employed, in addition to the servants and 
trumpeters, for greater dignity as well as 
security. Thus we read that John Evelyn, 
when sheriff of Surrey and Sussex, attended 
the judges with one hundred and sixteen 
servants in green satin doublets and cloth 

cloaks, trimmed with silver galloon, as were 
the brims of their hats, which were also 
adorned with long white plumes. These 
men carried javelins; and the procession 
was preceded by two trumpeters bearing 
handsome flags on which Evelyn's arms 
were gorgeously emblazoned. Besides these 
hired retainers, Evelyn was attended by 
thirty gentlemen, to whom he was related, 
all clad in the same colors. Even at the 
present time, when the usual state of the 
English county sheriff consists of a hand- 
some carriage and half a dozen liveried serv- 
ants, the old i)ageantry is still maintained 
by such incumbents of the office as have a 
love for the ancient splendor and disjjlay. 
Charles Reade alludes to this in the closing 
chapter of " Put Yourself in his Place." Guy 
Raby,an aristocratic squire, who holds stren- 
uously to old notions and observances, has 
received the appointment of county sheriff; 
and when the assizes come on, he meets " the 
judges with great pomp. This pleased the 
Chief Justice : he had felt a little nervous ; 
Raby's predecessor had met him in a carriage 
and pair, with no outriders, and he had fVlt 
it his duty to fine the said sheriff £100 for 
so disrespecting the crown in his person. 

"So now, alluding to this, he said, 'Mr. 
Sheriff, I am glad to find you hold by old 
customs, and do not grudge outward observ- 
ances to the queen's justices,' 

" 'My lord,' said the sheriff, 'I can hardly 
show enough respect to justice and learning 
when they visit me in the name of my sov 

" ' That is very well said, Mr. Shcrift',' said 
my lord." 

Improvement in coaches for state and i)ri- 
vate purposes was still slower in P^rance and 
Germany than in P^ngland. So la^c as IHf^O 
an English gentleman wrifcs as follows of 
what he saw among the farmers of Norman- 
dy, whom he was visiting with M. Alexis de 
Tocqueville: "One farm only a|q)eared to 
have a wagon. On the others the harvest 




was being carried home on a sort of cradle 
placed on a horse's back, and supporting six 
sheaves on each side. Twenty years ago no 
other mode of conveyance was possible, for 
what were called roads were mere lanes, just 
broad enough to admit a horse and its bur- 
den. In the coach-house of the castle I saw 
the old family carriage. It is the body of a 
vis-d-vis, supported by four shafts extending 
before and behind, like a large Bath chair, 
only that two horses carried it instead of 

One of the honest complaints against 
coaches and carriages was that they pro- 
moted effeminacy. Before their introduc- 
tion men and women, unless invalids, made 
their journeys on horseback and delighted 
in the chase. In the good old days of chiv- 
alry the high-born lady, attended by knights 
and pages, rode to the field with the hooded 
falcon on her wrist — a picture which fills 
the imagination of poet and painter. But 
what artist or poet would the hunting char- 
iot of the reign of Louis XIIL inspire to 
paint or sing ? Could any thing be imag- 
ined more grotesquely prosaic ? 

Nearly contemporaneous with the intro- 
duction of hackney-coaches into England 
was that of the sedan-chair, by Sir Sanders 
Duncomb, in 1634. Sir Sanders, who had 
seen the vehicle abroad, obtained a patent 
for it in his own country, and prepared forty 
or fifty specimens for public use. Previous 
to this general introduction a contrivance 
of this kind had been used by the favorite 
Buckingham, to the great disgust of his 
countrymen, who indignantly averred that 
he was employing his fellow-creatures to do 

the work of beasts. As soon, 
however, as this convenient 
means of locomotion was 
placed within reach of the 
public, they cheerfully forgot 
their aversion to the servile 
employment of their fellow- 
creatures, and the sedan-chair 
came into popular use. In 
the first three-quarters of the 
eighteenth century, says the 
editor of the " Book of Days," 
when the style of dress was 
highly refined, and the slight- 
est derangement to the hair 
of either lady or gentleman 
was fatal, the sedan was in 
high favor in all European 
countries. Then was the 
exquisite fop, with his ele- 
gant silk clothes, nicely ar- 
ranged toupee, and ample 
curls, as fain to take advan- 
tage of this luxurious carriage 
as any of the gentler (it would 
be incorrect to say softer) sex. 
The nobility and wealthy 
members of the middle class 
were accustomed to keep their own sedans, 
which were frequently of very elegant shape, 
and beautifully ornamented with carved or 
painted decorations. It must have been a 
fine spectacle when a train of these splendid 
sedans, filled with exquisitely dressed ladies 
and gentlemen, and attended by linkboys 
with flaring torches, passed at evening 
through the streets of London, Paris, or 
Madrid to some magnificent entertainment. 
When the party had alighted and vanished 
within-doors, the linkboys thrust their flam- 
beaux into the large extinguishers which 
were placed beside the doors of the aristo- 
cratic mansions of that period, and withdrew 
to the nearest ale-house to wait until their 
services were required for the return home. 





During the reign of Louis XIII. a modifica- 
tion of the sedan-chair was very popular 
aihong the ladies and fops of Paris. It was 
hung between two wheels, and drawn by a 
man. The door and steps were in front. 
In Spain the chair was made large enough 
to carry a party of four, and was borne by 
two gayly caparisoned mules, one before and 
one behind, as shown in our illustration. 
The detestable condition of the roads in 
Spain rendered this a much more comfort- 
able means of going from place to place than 
the wheeled vehicles, and, if the writer is 
not mistaken, it is still to be met with in 
some parts of that country. The shafts on 
which it was slung being long and springy, 
the motion, even over the roughest roads, 
was easy and unfatiguing. 

Owing to the general introduction of t*he 
more convenient hackney-coach, the sedan- 
chair gradually fell into disuse in London 
and other English cities, when, at the com 
mencement of the present century, the sight 
of one was a rarity ; but in Edinburgh they 
kept their hold upon public favor some time 
longer. In the steep streets and narrow 

lanes of the Scottish capital the sedan was 
found to be a more convenient mode of con- 
veyance than the coach, and until long past 
the middle of the last century that city could 
boast of more sedans than carriages, and it 
was many years later before they were en- 
tirely driven out. These were for the most 
part in the hands of Highlanders, whose 
picturesque costume and uncouth jargon 
were the admiration and amusement of all 
strangers, as their constitutional irritability 
was frequently the occasion of much wran- 
gling and confusion at the doors of inns and 

In China and India the palanquin, a sort 
of sedan-chair, still maintains its popular 
ity as a safe, easy, and convenient mode of 
travel ; indeed, in all Eastern countries, 
where the science of road-building has made 
but little progress except in the vicinity of 
the larger cities, the use of wheeled vehicles 
is out of the question, and the palanquin, 
the howdah, and the saddle furnish the only 
means of journeying from place to place; 
and many years, perhaps generations, must 
elapse before these modes are superseded by 






modern European contrivances, except along 
those great highways of travel and traffic 
where European enterprise and capital have 
forced the construction of railroads. In the 
.Japanese towns a contrivance very similar 
to the sedan-chair, on wheels, but ruder and 
more clumsy in construction, takes the place 
of the "hack" in European and American 
cities. It is drawn by a man harnessed be- 
tween shafts, and is called by the euphoni- 
ous name of jin riki sha." 

In no civilized country of the present day 
are the modes of travel more primitive or 
exasperating than in Russia. Her railway 
system is still comparatively undeveloped; 
and whenever the traveler leaves the iron 
highways, he is subjected to inconveniences 
and discomforts from which other countries 
have been free for several generations. In 
Germany and Switzerland the roomy and 
comfortable stellwagen" affords a pleasant 
mode of traversing the rural districts to 
those whose means do not permit them to 
travel by private post 5 but in Russia, and 
especially in the Siberian provinces of that 
vast empire, nothing of the kind is to be 
found. There the unfortunate traveler is 
bundled into a rude four-wheeled vehicle, 
called a " telyaga," seven or eight feet long, 
and just wide enough to seat two persons. 
The baggage is laid on the bottom of the 
wagon, and covered with blankets and furs 
to smooth out inequalities. Upon this the 
traveler sits or reclines, and surrenders him- 
self, with the best grace he can, to the fearful 
discomforts of Russian roads. The " telya- 
ga" is a public vehicle, and must be changed 
at every post-station. To avoid the nuisance 
of being shifted, bag and baggage, every few 
hours, often in the night-time, and in drench- 
ing rain or blinding snow storm, travelers 
sometimes purcliase a private conveyance, 
called a " tarantass," a vehicle on the gen- 
eral plan of the " telyaga," but larger and 
more convenient. It is furnished with a 
hood, like that of an American chais(5, and 
is generally patlded inside to break the force 
of sudden jolts and bumps. Both vehicles 

are mounted on strong elastic 
poles, and to afford as much 
spring as possible the axles are 
placed from eight to twelve 
feet apart. This gives an agree- 
able swaying motion, like 
that of the " buckboard" wagon 
which is used in some of our 
own rural districts ; but, even 
under the best conditions, trav- 
elers complain that Siberian 
carriages afford an unconscion- 
able amount of torture to the 

In Russia, where snow lies 
on the ground nearly half the 
year, and railway facilities 
are comparatively slight, the 
sleigh or sledge is an important means of 
locomotion. In fact, winter is the best time 
for travel in that country, and merchandise 
and other freight are mostly transported over 
snow roads. Private sledges are light but 
of very strong make, and very rarely exhibit 
the grace and elegance displayed in the 
American sleigh. The public sledge is of a 
very rude and clumsy construction, but im- 
mensely strong, in order to stand the wear 
and tear of the horrible roads. Of the trav- 
eling sleighs there are several kinds, the 
best of them being the vashak and the kihitka. 
The former is shaped something like a com- 
mon hackney-coach ; it is about seven feet 
long, varies in width according to the build- 
er's fancy, and has a door at the sides. The 
driver sits in a box in front, and there is 
generally a sheltered place for a postilion. 
The kibitka is more like the tarantass in con- 
struction, and is open in front, which affords 
the advantage of flying views of the country. 
To an American there is something ludicrous 
in the clumsy construction of these vehicles; 
but they are adapted to the roads of the 
country, and withstand joltings and thump- 
ings that would wreck a Broadway fancy 
" cutter" in five minutes. The author of 
Traveling in Siberia" writes bitterly of 
the discomforts of sledge travel. He says : 
" At times it seemed to me as if the sleigh 
and every thing it contained would go to 
pieces in the terrible thumps we received. 
We descended hills as if pursued by wolves, 
or guilty consciences, and it was generally 
our fate to find a huge oukhaha, or cradle- 
hollow, just when the horses were doing 
their best. I think the sleigh sometimes 
made a clear leap of six or eight feet from 
the crest of a ridge to the bottom of a hollow. 
The leaping was not very objectionable, but 
the impact made every thing rattle. I could 
say, like the Irishman who fell from the 
house-top, ' 'Twas not the fall, darling, that 
hurt me, but stopping so quick at the end.' " 
The teams are attached in a peculiar man- 
ner to the Russian sledges. There is one 
horse in the shafts, with a large hoop, from 

which swings a bell, above his back, and on 
each side one or more extra horses attached 
to the sledge by traces only. The driver 
urges them to their utmost speed by blows 
and shonts, and they display an amount of 
patient endurance which is simply mar- 

In the northern regions of Sweden and 
Norway, and in Lapland, the reindeer and 
the dog furnish almost the only means of 
travel through the greater portion of the 
year. The sledges present several modes of 
construction, from the runuered sledge, like 
those shown in our illustration, to the ruder 
canoe-like primitive form found chiefly in 
Lapland. The latter are exceedingly diffi- 
cult to manage. A stranger, trying one for 
the first time, has hard work to keep his 
balance, and is generally ignominiously up- 
set, to the great delight of the natives. 

As a draught animal, its speed, endurance, 
and its special adaptation to traveling on 
snow, make the reindeer the most valuable 
of creatures to people in the latitudes of 
almost perpetual winter. The ordinary 
weight drawn with ease by a single rein- 
deer is about 240 pounds; but it can travel 
with over 300. Its speed is very great. 
When put to its utmost it has been known 
to travel, for a short distance, at the rate of 
nearly 19 miles an hour; but its power of 
endurance is still more remarkable. It is 
not an unusual feat for a reindeer to perform 
a journey of 150 miles in 19 hours ; and the 
portrait of one is preserved in the y)alace of 
Drotingholm, Sweden, which traversed 800 
miles in 48 bours, conveying an officer with 
important dispatches. This was at the rate 
of nearly 17 miles an hour ; and we are not 
surprised to learn that at the end of tliis 
cruel journey the poor creature dropped 

The arctic researches of the last few years 
have familiarized us with the habits and 
usefulness of the Esquimaux dogs, which in 
Labrador and Greenland are the only ani- 
mals used for draught. They are hardy, 
bold, and strong, and will drag the native 
sledges for a long time at a speed of several 
miles an hour. The mode of attaching them 
is by leather traces, or thongs, fastened to a 
neck collar, and they are managed by the 
driver's whip and voice. A mongrel race of 
dogs is also used for draught during the 
winter season in the regions about Lake 
Superior. Like the Esquimaux dogs, they 
are hardy, easily managed, and strong, and 
bear fatigue, abuse, and hunger without 
losing their good temper. When the snow 
lies deep over wide stretches of country, 
they furnish the only means of transporting 
provisions, merchandise, and the mails; and 
in many parts of Canada and the Lake 
Superior mineral districts the inhabitants 
would be utterly shut off from the rest of 
the world during several months of the year 
were it not for these invaluable creatures. 

Skates, used onlj^ for pastime in most 
countries, may be classed among important 
means of locomotion in Holland during the 
winter season, when the innumerable canals 
which intersect that country in every direc- 
tion are frozen over. There skating is more 
than a pleasant accomplishment, to be in- 
dulged in on moonlight nights, 

when heaux and sweethearts meet 
To chase the frosty liours with flying feet, 

as Byron might have written In tliat cmi 
nently practical land the strapping country 
girls skate to market, carrying on their heads 
jugs of milk, baskets of eggs, or other ar- 
ticles for sale, or push before them a sled 
loaded with commodities of various kindt:. 




With us, and the French and English, skat- 
ing is only pleasant amusement and al- 
though many young ladies become very 
proticient in the art, there are some who 
prefer the more comfortable but less ex- 
hilarating ice-sled ride. No young lady 
of true spirit would stoop to such tame 

It might, at first thought, seem rather 
forced to include the iion-shod stock," 
or staff, of the Alpine chamois-hunter 
among means of locomotion •, but when 
the important uses to which it is put 
during his perilous excursions are con- 
sidered, its claim to be so regarded must 
be conceded. In many cases it becomes 
to its owner both bridge and vehicle, 
with whose assistance frightful chasms 
are crossed which would oppose insu- 
perable obstacles to the hunter's unas- 
sisted steps. Almost every book of Alpine 
adventure contains anecdotes which show 

the value of this simple 
implement. In his ex- 
citing chase after the 
chamois the hunter 
frequently encounters 
deep and wide cre- 
vasses, over which he 
might as well try to 
fly as to leap; in this 
emergency his long 
and sharply ironed 
staff supplies the place 
of wings. Planting it 
firmly near the edge of 
the chasm, he makes 
the flying leap in per- 
fect safety, alighting 
on the other side with 
the sure-footedness of 
the animal he pursues. 

The immediate pre- 
cursor of modern modes 
of land travel was 
the English mail- 
coach, which forty or 
ALi'E.N8TooK. ' ti^y y cars ago afforded 

the most expeditious means of public con- 
veyance. It was, on the whole, a pleasant 
institution, if we may judge by contem- 
porary reports, much more social and jolly, 
as well as more satisfactory, to those who 
like to use their eyes when traversing a 
beautiful country, than the " steam - cars" 
in which we are now whirled along over 
the iron roads which traverse Europe and 
America in every direction. In the good 
old times, when ten miles an hour was re- 
garded as a wonderful rate of speed, travel- 
ing meant something more than it does now- 
adays, and " seeing" a country through which 
one passed was not the meaningless phrase 
it has become since the introduction of rail- 
roads. Still the modern system has its com- 
pensations; and perhaps a majority of the 
people who glory in rushing from New York 
to San Francisco in a week see quite as 

^.M^ ^^:m^m ^^^^ 


much as they would if they took six months 
for the trip. It makes all the difference in 
the world whether you see with the eyes of 

a Ruskin or with those of a (let the 

millions who are not Ruskins finish the 
sentence to their own taste). Thousands 
of people travel through strange and inter- 





fisting countries every year, -wlio, for all the 
good it does them, might just as well be shot 
round the world through a pneumatic dis- 
patch tube, or, like Don Quixote, sit blind- 
folded on a wooden horse and be told that 
they are passing through regions of glorious 
scenery. Not that railroads, steam-ships, 
and other modes of rapid travel are to be 
condemned. They came at the call of civ- 
ilization ; and although the beautiful ships 
gradually give place to the less sightly but 
more profitable steamer — although our river 
steamboats every year present further de- 
partures from all that is noble and distinct- 
ive in naval architecture, it must be remem- 
bered that all these innovations are made in 
the interest of the great mass of the human 
family. They not only make travel cheap- 
er, and increase the facilities for the trans- 
portation of merchandise, but carry the ad- 
vantages of civilization to regions where 
they might not otherwise penetrate for gen- 
erations to come. Utopians who, like Eus- 
kin, sigh for the good old times, who be- 
lieve in a golden age of the past but not in 
one of the future, waste their breath in a 
vain cause. The world will never turn its 


back on steam, unless some still more potent 
motive power be discovered. Ever since 
the world was made, man has sought by ar- 
tificial methods to supjilement his natural 
means of locomotion. He tamed the horse, 
the camel, the elephant ; he invented litters, 
wagons, boats, ships ; and every age has wit- 
nessed some improvement in the w-ays and 
modes of travel and transportation. No 
period of the world's history has witnessed 
greater improvements than the last thirty 
years. Many of our readers can remember 
when the stage-coach and the canal packet- 
boat were the principal means of travel 
throughout the United States; but prob- 
ably a great majority of them never saw ei- 


ther coach or canal-boat, and know them 
only by tradition or prints in school-books. 

There is now scarcely a city in America 
without that great public convenience, the 
street railroad. Railroads were long used 
in England with horse-power only, chiefiy 
for the transportation of coal and other 
heavy freight ; this method of working 
them has been generally abandoned in that 
country ; but in the United States their pe- 
culiar adaptation to city travel was early 
perceived, and they have nearly driven out 
the old-fashioned omnibus, except in thor- 
oughfares wliere the rails would offer such 
obstructions to business as to make their 
introduction imi)racticable. New York city 


has more than a dozen lines of street r;iil- 
w^^ys, on which more than twelve hundred 
cars are run day and night ; and a great i)art 
of its prosperity and growth is attril)ufal)I(> 
to them. From its peculiar formal ion a very 
large proportion of the ])cop](' doing busi- 
ness in New York are obliged to liv(! miles 
away from their pla(;«'S of eniphiyuient, and 
these lines ena])le them to go to and from 
their business with Imt little loss of time, n 
The inconvenieneo of the rails in tlu; streets 
has proved an obstacle to their general in- 




troduction into European cities, where, in- 
deed, there is less popular demand for them. 

Whether the many experiments which 
have been made since the days of Montgolfier 
to make aerial navigation hotli practicable 
and safe will ever be successful is still a 
matter of speculation and experiment. Ev- 
ery year some sanguine and entliusiastic in- 
ventor brings forward a new scheme, which 
is "certain to succeed," but which just as 
certainly ends in utter foilure. It would be 
hazardous to predict that man's inventive 
oenius will never be able to overcome the 
obstacles offered by the " powers of the air ;" 
but physical conditions are certainly against 
the success of such experiments, and men will 
probably have to be content with the pres- 
ent modes of annihilating time and space. 
During the siege of Paris balloons were 
used for the transmission of messengers and 
mails beyond the limits of the beleaguering 
army ; but once in the air, it was a matter 
of chance whether they alighted among 
friends or enemies, on the solid ground or in 
the sea. No means having yet been discov- 
ered for regulating the motion of balloons, 
the aeronaut is completely at the mercy of 
the element in which he floats ; and when 
his view of the earth is shut otf by clouds, 
he may be swept 
nado wi 
ing to 

that he is not resting motionless in a per- 
fect calm. As helpless as shipwrecked mari- 
ners drifting on a rudderless and oarless raft 
in the middle of the ocean, the aeronaut has 
no power to select his place of landing. He 
can select his point of departure, and can 
regulate the ascent and descent of his aerial 
machine ; but until he discovers some new 
principles that shall give him partial con- 
trol over the fluctuating tides and currents 
of the air, he will never be sure of arriving 
at a fixed destination. 

Three or four years ago the velocipede 
threatened to create a revolution in arti- 
ficial locomotion. For many months it was 
the rage in Europe and America. Old and 
young were smitten with the fever to be- 
come skillful velocipede riders, and training 
schools for that purpose, where machines 
of every variety were to be procured, were 
established in every city. Horseback riding 
was to become obsolete. The problem of 
rapid transit from New York to its suburbs 



was to be solved by the coristruction of an 
elevated velocipede double track roadway, 
on which merchants, clerks, and working- 
people could trundle themselves back and 
forth Now and then a daring and skilled 
velocipede rider would make his appearance 
in the street, threading his way between car- 
rin fires, stages, trucks, and carts with mar- 
velous dexterity But there was 
something ludicrous in the spec- 
tacle, and it was also discovered 
that propelling the machine over 
pavements was harder work than 
riding in the cars or stages ; and 
after a short-lived popularity the 
velocipede went out of fashion in 
this country as suddenly as it had 
risen into favor, and was abandoned 
entirely to very young America. 

It were useless to speculate on 
the progress which may yet be 
made in the means of locomotion ; 
but it seems reasonable to believe 
that the maximum of speed at 



which travelers can be transported with ' 
safety on sea and land has been attained in 
our best steam-ships and lines of railway, 
and that the chief improvements will be in 
the direction of comfort and security. If 
we are sometimes inclined to be impatient 
even of our " lightning express" trains and 
to wish for more rapid means of travel, let 
us look back a hundred years or so, when 
the stage occupied three days between New 
York and Philadelphia! In 1766 some one 
startled the community by advertising a 
stage line, which was christened " The Fly- 
ing-Machine," which made the trip in the 
unprecedented time of two days! An ex- 
press made the trip between New York and 
Boston in seven days, which was regarded 

as marvelously quick 
time. Let those who 
grumble at seven days 
on the road between 
New York and San 
Francisco be com- 
forted, in view of 
what their great- 
grandfathers consid- 
ered rapid traveliug. 

One of the prettiest 
sights in the world 
for parents, and all 
who are fond of 
youDg humanity, is 
the baby's trundle, 
in which the little 
toddler learns to 
make use of its legs ; 
and our artist has very properly included 
this nursery machine among his illustra- 

The invalid's chair is less a feature of 
American watering-places than of those of 
Europe, and especially of England, where 
they are much in vogue for gouty and rheu- 
matic old gentlemen, and for nervous old la- 
dies, who prefer this safe, languid, and easy 
mode of enjoying the out-door air to riding 
in carriages. 

It is not intended in this rather discursive 
article to include all the means of locomotion 
which have been contrived by the ingenuity 


baby's tkxtnule. 

invalid'b ouair. 

of civilized or barbarous men, but only to in- 
dicate a few salient points of contrast be- 
tween the advantages enjoyed by travelers 
at the present day and the cumbrous, un- 
comfortable modes of journeying in vogue 
even so late as the beginning of the present 
century. Much might be said, did space al- 
loAv, of the higher influences of rapid means 
of communication — influences which out- 
weigh all that can be said against them 
from a romantic point of view. They do, 
indeed, as Kuskin querulously complains, 
" make the w^orld smaller but in doing so 
they bring the nations together, promote 
international amity, and hasten on the era 
of universal intelligence, civilization, and 


Was it a dream ? 
I walked one day down through a city's street : 
The sun was shining dimly overhead, 
While filth and vileness were beneath my feet, 
And the houses on either side seemed red 
To the bricks' core with wickedness untold: 
And there were sights so drear and manifold 
Of want and suffering, of wretchedness 
In young and old, of hunger pitiless, 
And stenches foul, the very soul was sick, 
And dared not harbor questions, crowding thick. 
Of God's beneficence, and of His love. 

And there, as through those sad'ning sights I strove. 

E'en there, upon a garbage heap, I spied 

A rose-bud, thrown by scornful hands aside — 

A rose-bud that few days before had hung 

Upon its parent tree, purest among 

Its sisters sweet and fair. The dew had blessed 

Its opening morn ; its odors had caressed 

The ambient air, and kissed the lips of those 

Who bowed their lips to kiss the budding rose. 

And then one said he loved it more tlian all. 

And tore it from its stem (did I see fall 

A rain-drop ?), and bore it on his breast avfay. 

Ah ! how it joyed to lie there through the day, 
Bright with fragrant beauty, sweetly aeking 
Love for its love— sure 'twas no hard tasking. 
But soon, its freshness gone, it knew its fate— 
Alas ! how many learn it late, too late ! 
And he who wore it merely that it shed 
Its first sweet odors circling round his head. 
And with its beauty graced him as he walked. 
Nor loved it for its sake alone, when balked 
Of these, soon tore it from his breast away. 
And, careless of its fate, left it the play 
And toy of who should care a moment's space 
To please him with its fleeting, fading grace. 
And so 'twas soon, when festering and forlorn, 
And soiled and torn, of all pure men the scorn : 
This bud so fair, so sweet, so loved the while, 
This withered bud, so faded, bruised, and vile, 
Was thrown upon the garbage heap, to yield 
Its little earth to enrich some Potter's field. 

With reverent hand I took it from the pile 

(I thought the heavens gave me back a smile) - 

With reverent hand I brushed the filth away; 

I gently pulled apart its petals fair, 

And, even then, an odor faint but rare 

Breathed from its inner heart and seemed to pra> , 

And colors bright and pure that heart disclosed • 

The rose-bud even yet contained the rone ! 

And then I thought 'twas wafted from my hand, 

And bloesomcd full and sweet in Henvcn's own land. 

Was it a dnjam ? 



[better M.] 

SPIUNINQ. — [see page 184.] 


XlXth day of September, 
Year of Rome DCCCXXXV. 

BELOVED FRIEND —Petronius, one of 
the sexillarii of the Seventh Legion, ar- 
rived two days ago with dispatches for the 
emperor, salutations for me from Agricola, 
affectionate messages from my aged father 
and mother, and a precious love-token from 
Cymhelena, who is in camp with her broth- 
er. I was disappointed in not hearing from 
you aught else but tidings that you are earn- 
ing fame as a soldier, and when Petronius 
left were with a cohort of the Tenth Legion 
far away in the land of the Damnii. The 
messenger will soon return ; so on this beau- 
tiful autumnal morning I begin another let- 
ter to you, to tell you more about the home 
life of these wonderful Romans. They are 
indeed a wonderful people. Our country 
will greatly profit by their rule if our peo- 
ple shall be wise in acting upon the lessons 
taught by what has seemed to be our ad- 

To-morrow I am to take part in the nup- 
tial ceremonies, when Lesbia, the eldest 
(laughter of Dccius Vitellius, the questor, 
and the son of the rich Licinus will be 
wedded. To-day I will write only about 
wooing and betrothing, and leave the de- 
scription of the wedding until another time. 

Once the law forbade Romans marrying 
any but Romans. The statute was repealed 
long ago, and many Britons have akeady 

wedded some of the best of the Roman 

As with us, so here men woo. The moral 
restraints of society are frightfully loose here, 
yet custom ranks a wooing woman among 
the harlots. Her sex holds the veto power. 
Man proposes, woman disposes. She soon 
decides the question. The wooing season is 
short and definite. When the suitor has 
won, and obtained the consent of parents or 
guardians, then follows the espousals. Mu- 
tual friends meet at the home of the maid- 
en and arrange the marriage contract. It 
is written upon tablets by a notary, stamp- 
ed with his official signet, and signed by the 
contracting parties. The betrothal is made 
complete when the man places a token of 
fidelity, in the form of a plain iron ring, 
upon the fourth finger of -^he left hand of 
the maiden, from which they say an artery 
extends directly to the heart, and is a me- 
dium of spiritual communication between 
the espoused. 

Betrothals are seldom made in May, or at 
the kalends, nones, and ides of any month, 
because such times are considered unpropi- 
tious, and they are forbidden on any holy- 
day of feasting or fasting unless the woman 
be a widow. They are generally made in 
the night, but now extremely fashionable 
I)eople have the ceremony at dawn, or cock- 
crowing. Such was the hour on the 20th 
day of Sextilis when, at the house of Vitel- 
lius, Lesbia and Licinus the younger were 

espoused. When the tablets were signed, 
and the pledge-ring was upon the white fin- 
ger, sweetened wine, and cakes full of rai- 
sins and dried fruit from Corinth, were 
brought in by black eunuchs from Nubia 
upon silver salvers, and offered to the es- 
poused and their friends. Then the com- 
pany sang the Talasius, while damsels in 
white robes played the flute and lyre, and 
upon a small altar incense was burned and 
a bird was sacrificed to render the gods pro- 
pitious, and to obtain presages concerning 
the success of the marriage. 

XXIIId day. 

The wedding is over, and so is the storm 
of the autumnal equinox, which came fierce- 
ly on the day after the nuptials. Omens and 
weather were auspicious during the cere- 
mony, for the voice of a turtle-dove at sun- 
rise, and the flight of a crow, with pure a,ir 
and bright sunshine, made all hearts glad. 
The ceremonies began at early dawn, and 
ended long after darkness had fallen, when 
the wife was conducted to the house of her 

The bride is twenty years of age. She 
was dressed in a long white robe that reached 
from iier neck to her feet. It was adorned 
with purple fringe and many colored rib- 
bons, and was bound about the waist with 
a crimson girdle, which was secured in front 
by a graceful knot and a glittering buckle 
in the form of a bent bow, made of gold and 
precious stones. Many of the other ladies 
wore similar buckles on the fillets that bound 
their hair, and on shoulder-knots and gir- 
dles. I send you drawings of some of the 
buckles to show you the variety of their 

From the head of the bride hung a veil 
of a bright yellow color. Her feet were 
covered with high soft shoes of the same 
tint, made of the dressed skin of a kid, and 
trimmed at top with falls of fine white lin- 

en. These shoes sparkled at each instep 
with a jeweled buckle. Her golden hair, 
soft and thick, had been parted by the point 
of a spear which had been dipped in the 
blood of a gladiator, as a sort of prophecy 
that she would be a mother of valiant chil- 
dren. Her hair was disposed in six curled 
tresses, after the manner of that of the ves- 
tal virgins, indicative of her chastity. She 
had also been crowned with a chaplet of 
vervain, which she had gathered with her 
own hands, and carried under her robe until 
the moment when it was to be put on her 
head. From her ears hung jewels, rich and 
rare. So also were many oi the other ladies 
adorned. Large sums are spent for these 
ear jewels. Indeed, they rank as one of the 
greatest extravagances of the time among 
the Roman women. A satirist has lately 
said, " If I had a daughter, I would cut off 
her ears and added, " What jdenty we 
should have of all things if there were no 
women!" A grave scribe has just written 
that " women go to seek for pearls at the 
bottom of the Red Sea, and search the depths 
of the earth for emeralds, and all to adorn 
their ears." Sneering Juvenal, who d<5rideH 
the empress and the courtesan with etjual 
sharpness of wit, in satires which he dare 
show only in private to his friends, has writ- 
ten within a month that " th(^re is nothing 
a woman will not allow herself, nothing she 
holds disgraceful, when she has (Micirclcd 
her neck with emeralds, ami inserted car- 
rings of great size in her ears, strtitchcd wit h 
their weight." Just before he died Seneca 
wrote that some ear-rings worn by women 
were so costly that a single pair was worth 
the revenue of a large estate. All women 
wear them, and so do many men. Some are 
of cheaper substances, such as tlio baser 
metals, amber, and glass. Tlie drawings I 
here send will give you an idea of their 
forms. That showing a circular top and 




pear-shaped pendant (the latter being an 
enormous pearl) is of one worn by the bride, 
whose necklace was also charming and very 
costly, it being composed of large pearls and 
emeralds, made into a string by links of 
pure gold. 

The bride's arms were bare almost to the 
shoulders when her veil was thrown back, 
and were encircled with bracelets above and 
below the elbows. These were made of 
gold, some plain, and others set with pre- 
cious stones. One of them represented a 
coiled serpent, glittering with jewels, and 
passing three times around the arm. An- 
other, of which I give you a draAviug, was a 

thick wire of fine gold terminating in the 
head of a ram ; and a third, here delineated, 
excelled all the others in beauty and costli 
ness, being a band of gold studded with 
emeralds, turquoises, rubies, and sapphires, 
some of them so arranged as to form the 
name of Lesbia, and bearing on the embossed 
clasp an effigy of Domitian. It was given 
by the emperor as a wedding present to the 
bride, whoso father is a great favorite at 

The fingers of the bride also glittered with 
jeweled rings, which contrasted strangely 
with the i)lain hoop of iron given at the es- 
pousals, and which she will never lay aside 
unless she becomes a widow. But rings for 
ornament and use are not worn by women 
only. They are seen upon the fingers of men 
of every degree above that of the slave. 
They are made of all sorts of metals, and set 
with gems, such as agate, jasper, caruelian, 
turquois, sapj)hire, garnet, emerald, topaz, 
beryl, amethyst, onyx, and other stones of 
less value, upon which seals are often en- 
graved. The emperor has a ring of gold 
bearing a gem brought from the East, as 
brilliant as a star, and so hard that it can 
not be cut by any other substance. The 
Greeks call it diamond, and it is very rare. 
Rings are given as rewards of valor, and no- 
blemen bestow them upon their freedmen in 
acknowledgment of their good deeds. 

Fops, in these degenerate times, are plen 
tiful, and wear rings in abundance, some- 
times covering every finger with them. 
Some have carried their folly so far as to 
wear the same rings only a week, and then 
replace them with new ones. Oh, Penda! 
were it not for the sturdy, virtuous prov- 
inces, what would become of imperial Rome! 
Men here, in the great city, are turning first 
into women, and then into birds and beasts 
They dote on trinkets like women, on fine 




dresB as the bird does upon its plumage, and 
by excessive lust become beasts. The fops 
disgust you at every turn. They wear scar- 
let tunics and blue cloaks, and sometimes 
the feminine toga, clasped with rich buckles 
that serve as brooches. They defy the sun 
with parasols brought from India, paint 
their eyelids and faces like the Corinthian 
harlots, curl their hair into ringlets glossed 


with perfumed oils, and even display the 
bodkin among their tresses. They lisp in 
soft whispers, and in every way they ape 
silly women in manners and personal orna- 
ments. Flattery of the rich and powerful 
has taken the place of manly conversation. 
Only yesterday Fabricius, a courtier, laid a 
turbot at the feet of Domitiau, and declared 
that the fish insisted upon being caught for 
the royal table. But I am wandering a lit- 
tle, yet not beyond the domain of the home 
life of these Romans. I have told you about 
the bride, her attire, and her ornaments; 
now I will tell you of the wedding and what 

The nuptial rites were few and simple, 
and were performed in the peristylum of 
Vitellius's house, among the flowers and un- 
der the blue sky, just at the break of day. 
Near a fountain stood a little altar, at which 
a priest sacrificed a sheep, and spread its 
skin over two chairs. Upon these the bride 
and groom were seated on the soft wool, 
with heads covered, and with one habited 
like Juno Pronuba, the divine marriage- 
maker, laying her hands upon their shoul- 
ders in a gentle embrace, denoting their 
unity. Then the company sang the Tala- 
sius, accompanied by the sweet music of the 
double flute. The priest, with uncovered 
head, invoked the blessings of the gods upon 
the wedded pair, and then sacrificed a lamb. 
So ended the religious ceremonies, and so 
the young Licinus and Lesbia were united 
as husband and wife. The bride was then 
divested of her ornaments, and the day was 

nuptial ceremony. 

Vol. XLVL— No. 272.— 12 




spent by the whole company in feasting and 
amusement until the twilight had faded, 
when the final and more imposing ceremo- 
nies were begun. 

At sunset preparations were made for 
conducting the bride to the house of her 
husband. During the gathering twilight 
a procession was formed in the peristylum, 
composed of the bride's nearest relations 
and guests who had participated in the 
pleasures of the day. Then the bride, who 
was sitting in her mother's lap, was forced 
from her maternal embrace and carried .out 
to the head of the procession, where she was 
closely veiled, and had rich sandals placed 
upon her feet. On each side of her was a 
boy whose father and mother were both liv- 
ing. They were robed in the white toga 
proetexta, with purple borders. These sup- 
ported the bride by her arms. Before her 
was another boy dressed in the same man- 
uer, and who was of the same social condi- 
tion, who bore a torch of white thorn. Be- 
hind the bride followed a boy carrying a 
covered vase, in which were her jewels and 
other trinkets, and also toys for children. 
Another carried a distaff and spindle, in 
memory of Caia Cfecilia, wife of Tarquinius 
Priscus, who is held to be a pattern of con- 
jugal fidelity and skilled industry. These 
implements signified that she was to pre- 
side over the household and labor with her 

The white thorn torch was now lighted, 
and so also was oue of pine that was car- 
ried by the mother of the bride. These were 
followed by the whole wedding company, 

some of whom carried burning wax -can- 
dles, and in this way the procession moved 
through the vestibulum to the street, and 
so on to the dwelling of the waiting hus- 
band, slaves at the same time distributing 
bride-cakes among the multitude of specta- 
tors. The air was filled with the music of 
the flute, lyre, harp, cymbal, drum, and sis- 
trum, and of all voices chanting the Tala- 

It is the custom for the bridegroom and 
bride to assume the names of Cains and 
Caia, in honor of the noted spinner and roy- 
al wife I have just mentioned, whose distaff, 
covered with wool, yet hangs in the temple 
of Sanctus, where it was deposited after her 
death, and whose handiwork as spinner and 
weaver is seen in a royal robe that she made 
for her husband, which yet hangs in the tem- 
ple of Fortune, where it was put six hun- 
dred years ago, after it had been worn by 
Servius Tullius, her husband's successor. 
So, when the marriage procession reached 
the house of the bridegroom, they were in- 
troduced to each other at the door by her 
attendants, when she said, in a clear voice, 
" Where you are Caius, I am Caia," signify- 
ing that she entered the house as an equal 
partaker in the government of the family. 
It was as much as to say, " Where you are 
paterfamilias, I am materfamilias." Then 
tire and water, placed at the door, were 




touched by the bridegroom and ])ride, in to- 
ken of mutual purity, when she was sprink- 
led with water and covered with a veil, sig- 
nifying that after these ceremonies she is 
to be seen only by her husband. Now she 
was lifted by attendants over the thresh- 
old, which is sacred to the peuates and the 
goddess Vesta, and may not be touched. 
The friends reverently followed, and in the 
atrium, or great family room of the house, 
brilliantly lighted with a central lamp and 
the wax-candles that had been carried in 
the streets, the husband gave to his wife 
the keys of the mansion, by which she was 
installed as its mistress. With these she 
took her seat upon a fleece of wool, in token 
that spinning was to be her employment. 

The musicians now entered, and the whole 
company sang the Talasius, and uttered 
words of extravagant praise of the bride. 
A little sacrifice was then made to Priapus, 
the god of fruitfulness in all nature, follow- 
ed by a sumptuous feast, at which the em- 
peror and several nobles were guests Dur- 
ing the supper little clay medals, impressed 
with images of the bride and bridegroom, 
were distributed among the company At 
a late hour we all retired, each saluting the 
bride with a parting kiss. 

In the elder times, before the republic, and 
when kings ruled over Rome — the times of 
Tarquinius Priscus and the good Caia — oth- 
er ceremonies followed the departure of the 
guests. The custom still prevails in certain 
ancient families. In the atrium the veiled 
bride, seated at one end of the room, and 
the bridegroom, crowned with grape leaves, 
at the other, were subjects of some final re- 
ligious rites, which the drawing I send you 
will better explain than much writing. I 
copied it from a painting on a wall in the 
lesser palace of Augustus Caesar. You see 
the veiled bride seated upon a triclinium, or 
couch, caressed by an attendant, who is 
crowned with laurel and partially disrobed. 
The bridegroom is seen at the other end of 
the room, half reclining upon a sort of foot- 
stool before a couch. Not far from the bride 
and her attendant is a young woman leaning 
upon a short column, performi ug some cere- 
mony to avert witchcraft and enchantments. 
Near the centre of the room are three women 
standing by a short column, on which is a 
basin of water and a napkin. One of them 
is a veiled priestess, performing acts of lus- 
tration and expiation. Anotlier appears to 
be an assistant. Leaning against tlx; foot 
of the column is a tablet ])earing tlie mar- 
riage record. A little further on you see 
three other women at a small family altar. 
One, with a radiated crown, is tlie Kegina 
Sacrorum, or Queen of tlie .Sacred Nuptial 
Sacrifice, and represents the cliast(i V(;st.'i — 
the family deity— the goddess of fire, or tlie 
personified sun, which the radiattid crown 
typifies. An attendant is pouring a sacri 





ficial libation upon tlie altar, while another 
makes music with a lyre. So ended the ' 
marriage ceremonies in the time of the old ' 
monarchs, when the Talasius was first sung, ! 
for that is a very ancient nuptial song, the j 
origin of which is clear. At the time the | 
Sabine women were seized in Rome for 
wives for the Romans, there was a citizen \ 
named Talasius, who was renowned for his 
valor and other virtues. A plebeian, assist- 
ed by his friends, the better to secure a beau- 
tiful maiden he had seized, cried out in the 
streets that he was carrying ier to Talasius. 
The people shouted their approbation. The 
damsel married the plebeian, and the union 
proved to be a very hapjjy one. It became 
a custom to sing a song at nuptials, called 
Talasius, as the Greeks do their Hymenaius. 

I will now tell you how men and women 
in Rome dress on ordinary occasions, first re- 
marking that each class, from the slave to the 
senator, has its peculiar fashions, and that 
the patrician class has different kinds of 
dresses for different occasions, such as feasts, 
the sports, weddings, and funerals. 

Slaves, common people, and children wear 
only a woolen tunic or shirt that falls from 
the neck to the knees, with long or short 
sleeves. It is girded about the waists of 
the common people with a cord; but the 
higher classes use sashes or girdles made of 
silks or other rich stuffs dyed with gay col- 
ors. In winter the common people wear a 
shorter woolen tunic next the skin, and long 
woolen hose for their legs, and heavy shoes 
for their feet. Some of the outer tunics of 
the patricians are of fine white linen, orna- 
mented with a purple stripe that extends 
down from the throat to the lower hem of 
the garment. 

It IS fashionable in the city to go bare- 
headed, but the common people, who labor 
all day here, or work in the country, and 

mariners, wear felt hats to protect their 
heads from the extremes of heat and cold 
and the storms. The city people give that 
inotection by covering their heads with a 
fold of their ample togas. The felt cap, in 
the form the Phrygians wear it, has become 
here an emblem of liberty. When a master 
is about to make a slave free, he takes him 
to the temple of Feronia, the goddess of free 
dom, where his head is shaved, and the pi- 
leus, or cap of liberty, is placed upon his 
head. It is made of undyed wool in the 
form seen in the drawing. 

The toga, or large gown, is a robe of hon- 
or, and only the patrician class Inay wear it. 
It is made of wool, linen, and silk. Those 
of senators and judges are made of brown 
and black silk, which gives them a grave 
and dignified appearance. The volume of 
the garment is so ample that it may be tied 
around the body so as to give full freedom 
to the limbs. On the occasions of public ca- 
lamities or mourning, of feasts and funerals, 
the toga is laid aside, while the dead of ev- 
ery degree are carried to the pyre, or the 
grave shrouded, in one of white linen. At 
public sports a shorter one, called penula, is 
worn. It is open, and so fastened with a 
buckle to the right shoulder that the right 
arm is left perfectly free, as seen in the 
drawing. The penula is sometimes worn by 
women, and always by military officers. The 
sons of patricians wear the toga prjetexta, 
which I have already drawn for you, until 
they are. sixteen years of age, when they put 





on the toga virilis. This varies from the 
other only in not having a purple border. 

The feet and legs of men are dressed in 
various forms, having a general resemblance, 
from the sandal — a simple sole, made of 
wood, palm leaves, leather, brass, iron, and 
copper, fastened to the bare foot and leg by 
thongs — to the highly ornamented shoe and 
boot, made of soffc deer-skin. Some of these 
boots or buskins, worn by both men and 
women, are very costly, for they are orna- 
mented with gold and precious stones. They 
are dyed with bright colors, and often have 
high heels. Senators wear a boot the foot 
of which is red and the leg black. There is 
a very pretty buskin made of soft white 
leather, which is worn by women and effem- 
inate men, in the same form of that of the 
bride which I have written about. In the 
drawing of sandals, shoes, and boots here 
given it is distinguished by the jeweled 
buckle at the middle of the foot and of the 

The women wear long outer garments of 
wool, linen, and silk, which fall to their 
feet, and are so arranged by the more mod- 
est persons that they nearly cover their arms 
as if with broad sleeves. These robes are 
of various hues, the most fashionable just 
now being murrey-colored, or the tint of the 
vine leaves in autumn. In the drawing 
I here give you of a senator and his wife 
you may see the prevailing costume of the 
sensible people of the better sort here. She 
has a modest fillet formed of her own hair, 
and wears plain sandals on her feet. Her 
husband has the tight shoe or boot. Over 
her tunic, which falls in thick folds to her 
feet, and is bound by a plain girdle at the 
waist, she wears an open cloak. The ex- 
ternal tunic of women is often made of the 
finest linen, and displays the form in every 
motion. It is sometimes bound at the waist 
by a gold chain, with handsome ornaments 
at its fallins: ends 


The fops of both sexes here run into great 
extravagances in dress in form and colors ; 
and just now some of the foolish sons of 
rich men are spending much time and mon- 
ey with the gay chlamys, a kind of long 
scarf borrowed from the Greeks, which is 
often made of many colors, embroidered with 
gold and silver, and fastened to the shoulder 
with costly buckles. It is made of dyed 
wool, and is worn in a score of ways accord- 
ing to the caprice of the wearer. It is usu- 
ally so fastened to the shoulder that the 
shorter end may hang down behind to the 





calves, and the longer be thrown over the 
arm in graceful folds, and displayed with 
jeweled hands. It is sometimes made thin, 
so that it flutters in the wind. In the draw- 
ing of dancers which I send you the man 
and one of the women have the chlamys, 
which floats out with their motions, and 
makes the wearer a most conspicuous ob- 
ject. Women of loose morals sometimes 
wear an almost transparent robe made of 
silk, and ornamented with stripes of gold, 
called coa vestis. 

I might give you more minute details of 
other garments of men and women, but this 
wiU sufflce, for they are now becoming quite 
common in Britain, But I must not omit 
to tell you of the way the Roman ladies ar- 
range their usually long and thick hair. 
They seldom use many ornaments, for their 
tire-women produce a more pleasing effect 
with the tresses than any thing that art can 
furnish. I send you drawings of four heads, 
which I made at the Amphitheatre a few days 
ago, which will give you a better idea of the 
prevailing fashions than any words can. I 
will only add that the simple fillet general- 
ly worn is usually of some gaj^ color, and that 
combs are beginning to be used for holding 
up the great pile of curls which some ex- 
tremely fashionable ladies now disj)lay. 
They are made of ivory, handsomely orna- 
mented, and have coarse and fine teeth at 
oi)posite ends for smoothing the hair. The 

wits are making fun of this new fashion. 
Juvenal read a piece to a few friends the 
other evening, in which he satirizes a court 
favorite in this wise : Into so many tiers 
she forms her curls, so many stages high she 
builds her head : in front you will look upon 
an Andromache, behind she is a dwarf: you 
would imagine her another person. Excuse 
her, pray, if nature has assigned her but a 
short back, and if, without the aid of high- 
heeled buskins, she looks shorter than a pig- 
my's maiden, and must spring lightly up on 
tiptoe for a kiss." 

I must also say a few words about the 
babies and young children. They are made 
bond-slaves at birth, for the first thing the 
nurse does after the ablution is to wind 
around the infant — arms, body, and legs — 
swaddling - cloths, and these usually indi- 
cate the rank of the parents. Some are 
wrapped in very costly stuff's tied with a 
golden band ; others with a purple scarf 
fastened by a glittering buckle ; others with 
a fine white shawl, such as the wealthy la- 
dies wear in cold weather in their houses, 
fastened with scarlet strings; while the poor 
wrap their babes in broad fillets of common 
cloth. The old Lacedemonians seem to have 
been wiser, for they only wrapped a broad 
fillet of linen around the body, and left the 
arms and legs full liberty. 

These Romans put their babies into cra- 
dles of various forms. The most common 
are those of a boat and a hollow shield. Jo- 
sephus, the Jew I have mentioned, tells me 
that the infant life of the great law-giver 
of his people was saved by his having been 
concealed among the osiers of the Nile by 
his mother in a boat-cradle. Sometimes, 
when the baby is a year old, the mother 
shaves its head and puts jewels in its ears, 
if it be a girl ; and so soon as it begins to 
walk an ornament called bulla is hung about 
its neck. This is often only a disk of metal, 
with the name of the child's family engraved 
ui)on it, so tkat the little one may be iden- 
tified if lost ; but more often it is a hollow 



metal case, sometimes highly ornamented, 
which contains charms against evil spirits. 
The children of the poor have disks of leath- 
er so marked that the babe may be identi- 
fied. These bullae (of one of which I have 
given you a drawing the size of the original) 
were at first given only to the little sons of 
noblemen, but now they are used by all 
classes. They are generally laid aside 
when the boy puts on the toga prjetexta; 
but sometimes a gold one is given to a 
youth because of some virtuous or valorous 
act of his, and he wears it as a badge of 
honor until he puts on the toga virilis. A 
bulla in the form of a disk of lead or wax, 
and stamped with the emperor's seal, is now 
suspended to all royal proclamations and 
diplomas and new statutes. In my draw- 
ing of the boy with the togo^ prsetexta you 
may see how the bulla is worn. 

Yesterday I attended the funeral of a 
charming maiden, daughter of a wealthy 
friend of this family, who died seven days 
ago. I was one of the few who went to con- 
dole with the family immediately after her 
death. She was laid upon a couch, with her 
ordinary dress of white linen, the weather 
being yet very warm, and had the appear- 
ance of one in a sweet slumber. At the 
head of the bed sat her father, upon a fold- 
ing-chair, his head covered with a portion 
of his toga. At the foot sat her mother, in a 
large backed chair, with her head covered. 
Around the couch were sorrowing relations, 
friends, and domestics, weeping bitterly, for 
she was an extremely amiable and \'irtuou8 
girl. On a footstool were her slippers, and 
under the bed was her favorite dog, with a 
paw upon a chaplet of olive leaves with 
which she was about to be crowned, in ac- 
cordance with the injunction of the Twelve 
Tables^ which directs such honor to bo paid 

to those who have led virtuous lives. The 
rings had already been removed from her 
fingers, and her body anomted with per- 
fumed oil 

The body was kept seven days, awaiting 
signs of life. Meanwhile every thing neces- 
sary for the funeral had been purchased in 
the temple of Libitina, and at the time ap- 
pointed for the body to be carried from tbt^ 
house to the pyre it was placed with its feet 
near the threshold, the attitude in which it 
was to be borne. Then it was decorated 
with cypress boughs. A vase of pure water 
stood near, with which all who came to the 
house of mourning were sprinkled as they 
went out. 

The funeral procession moved from the 
house at twilight. The body was borne upon 
a mattress by eight young men. The face, 
sweet in exx)res8ion even in death, was un- 
covered, and was fully revealed by the light- 
ed wax-candles carried before and after the 
bier Hired mourning women followed, mak 
ing loud lamentations, and shedding tears 
accustomed to flowing when bidden. Rela- 
tions, dressed in white, the women veiled, 
showed signs of great grief by gestures and 
disheveled hair, until the funeral pile, on 
the borders of the Via Appia, outside the 
city, was reached, when all gathered around 
the structure in silence. It was made of 
four courses of yew and pine alternate, and 
surrounded by cypress-trees. The l)()dy was 
laid upon it as it was borne with the mat- 
tress from the bier. The eyes were then 
opened, a small coin for ferriage fee at tli«'- 
Styx was put into the mouth, and then, fronj 
a crater filled with wine, milk, ami lioiiey, 
libations were ijourcd ovci- the Ixxly. At 
the same time two vases of pcrfunieil oil were 
emptied upon the body and the wood to fa- 
cilitate the burning, and, with the scorched 



cypress, relieve the compaiiy of the unpleas- 
ant odor of a consnining corjjse. While the 
pile was bnrning the leader of the ceremonies 
made load lamentations, to which the whole 
company responded, their last words being, 
" Farewell, farewell, farewell I We shall all 
follow thee in the order Nature appoints us." 
The embers were then quenched, when the 
ashes of the maiden were carefully gathered 
by her mother and sisters, and in the folds 
of their garments were carried to a beautiful 
black marble urn, in which they "were de- 
posited, and the lid sealed. This service was 
not difficult, for the bodj' had been wrapped 
in incombustible amianthus linen, and so the 
ashes were kept separate. 

Suchj dear Penda, are the funeral rites 
here on the death of a maiden of quality. 
When a man of distinction dies, great pomp 
is displayed. Music, sacrifices, a long train 
of hired mourners, mountebanks, whose an- 
tics relieve the solemnity, rich stutfs and 
costly liquors and perfumed oils cast upon 
the body and the often costly wood of the 
pile, are the accompaniments of the simple 
act of disposing of the dead. The bodies of 
the poor are burned in walled inclosures out- 
side of the city, and the ashes are buried in 
shallow graves. Such was the fate of Nero's 

Games and banquets for the people some- 
times follow the public funeral rites. They 
are often attended with great expense, and 
none but the very rich or the monarchs can 
afford them. To the games the people all 
come dressed in black ; to the banquets they 
come in white garments. On some occasions 
of this kind all Rome has been invited. It 
is said that when Julius Ciesar gave a pub- 
lic banquet in honor of his dead father he 
ordered twenty thousand tables to be set for 
the Romans. 

Much care is taken for the preservation 
of monumental urns and their contents. 
Heavy curses upon violators of them are in- 
scribed upon them, such as, " If any one shall 
take away this monument, or cause it to be 
taken away, let there be none of his race 
to succeed him." They are often inscribed 
with the usual prayer for the dead, "May 
the earth lie light upon thee," and also the 
wish that the dead may have cold water to 
drink. The epitaphs are sometimes curious, 
for they make the dead speak of themselves. 
Here is one which I copied this morning : 

" To the gods, Manes. My name is Olympia. I died 
at the age of twenty-two, and was laid in this tomb. 
I am a Greek by nation ; my country is Apamea ; I 
have injured nobody; I have offended neither any 
great nor mean person. I, Sotus, have made this epi- 
taph to my dear wife Olympia, whom I married a vir- 
gin ; I speak it, weeping ; our mutual love never de- 
creased ; it continued in its full vigor till the Parc?e 
took her from me. Out of love to you, dear wife, I 
have erected this monument, and give water to thy 
thirsty soul." 

I might tell you of vaults and subterra- 


nean chambers in which are long lines of 
sepulchral urns, and fill many leaves with 
pictures of beautiful ones that stand by the 
highways, but I should make my letter too 
long and tiresome, and so I will forbear, after 
telling you that little lachrymal vases and 
vials, that hold the tears of relations shed at 
the funeral, are usually mixed with perfumes, 
and placed in the urns holding the ashes of 
the dead. 

In Rome Ir.bor is honorable and idleness 
a shame. The women of every degree are 
patterns of industry. The chief employ- 
ments of a matron and grown daughters of 
the better class are spinning and weaving, 
and sometimes plain embroidering; and in 
almost every house you may see a distaff, 
spindle, and loom, especially in the country. 
The method of spinning is simple. Into a 
loose ball of flax or wool the broad, flat end 
of the distaff — a light stick or reed three 
feet long — is inserted. The distaff' is held in 
the left hand and steadied by the arm, while 
with the fingers of the right hand the fibre 
is drawn out and twisted spirally into a 
thread. This first thread is fastened to a 
spindle made of light wood or reed, with a 
slit at one end into which the thread is 
placed. By twirling this spindle as the 
fibres are drawn out the thread is hard 
twisted. The work is continued until the 
lengthening thread allows the spindle to 
touch the ground, when the former is wound 
upon the latter. This spinning and winding 
are repeated until the spindle is full, when 
the thread is cut off, the spindle laid in a 
basket for use in a loom, and another one em- 
ployed. The drawing on page 174 shows you 
how spinning is done in Rome. The weav- 
ing is by a simple method much like ours. 

The educated women here are all fond of 
writing letters to their friends and copying 
books. It is a passion. They are the chief 
teachers of their children in the art, yet 
there are writing-schools for boys. Paper, 
pen, ink, penknife, and stylus m.ay be seen 
in every house of the citizen classes, for edu- 




cation is compulsory. The paper is made 
from the inner bark of the papyrus plant, 
carefully peeled oif by needles, and made 
thinner or thicker, under pressure, by alter- 
nate layers of the bark placed transversely 
to each other. The black ink is made chiefly 
from the soot of various burned substances, 
mixed with gum and the liquid of the cut- 
tle-fish, and vinegar is used to make the 
color permanent. Vermilion, cedar, and 
cinnabar compose red inks, with which 
titles, capital letters, and the royal signa- 
tures are written. Sometimes gold is used 
for letters, and in books you may often see 
drawings of things and events in differ- 
ent colors; and on parchment diplomas re- 
ally very fine pictures may sometimes be 

The pen is generally made of the reed 
called calamus, but of late the quill of the 
goose has been used by some. I have used 
one of the latter for my drawings. 

The stylus is an instrument made of bone, 
ivory, or hard wood, with a sharp point for 
tracing upon a tablet of wood, ivory, or lead, 
covered with wax. These, tied together as 
I have represented them, like the famous 
Twelve Tables, form a volume. The blunt 
end of the stylus is used for erasures. This 
implement was once made of metal ; but the 
serious accidents with them which occurred 
among school -boys caused them to be made 
of bone. Sometimes they are very plain, 
and sometimes highly ornamented, as seen 
in the drawing. It was doubtless a heavy 
metal one with which Julius Caisar, when 
attacked, pierced through the arm of Casca. 
These implements, with rolls of pnpor, are 
all kept in a cylindrical ])ox with lock and 
key, which every boy carries with him to 
school. This box, called scrinium, is also 

used for keeping rolls of writing in exclu- 

Books are generally written in columns, 
with blank spaces between, upon the pre- 
pared skins of sheep and calves. Pieces are 
pasted together to form a length sufficient 
for a whole book, which is written upon the 
long strip and rolled over a staff. This is 
called a volumen. Sometimes a work com- 
prises several of these scrolls, which are put 
in a scrinium. In this way the works of 
authors are kept for sale in bookstores, and 
are arranged in libraries. 

The Romans are all fond of amusements 
[ and sports. The men hunt and fish a great 
! deal for amusement, as well as for the gain 
of food. The wild-boar, stag, and hare are 
the chief objects of the chase, and sometimes 
there are exciting hunts of the wolf and 
l)anther. Horses and numerous dogs are 
used in hunting. The latter are all named, 
and each responds when his name is uttered. 
They are taken out in leashes, and let loose 
as occasion may require. The chief weap- 
ons of the hunter are the dart and javelin. 
They shoot birds with arrows, and capture 
them with nets. In fishing with rod, hook, 
and line they are very expert. They also 
use nets as w^e do. Many rich citizens have 
fish-ponds at their country-seats, and some 
are of salt-water that flows in from the sea 
through canals, often dug at great expense. 
The value of these seats is often determined 
by the size and productiveness of the fish- 

The Roman women have in-door amuse- 
ments for the family and friends, consisting 
chiefly of games of chance played with dice. 
The favorite game is latrunculi, and has a 
warlike aspect in the method of playing. A 
table is checkered with two colors, and upon 
nearly every square is placed a counter or 
figure. These are called men, and are thirty 
in number, and divided equally by two col- 
ors. The game is played by two persons, 
each having fifteen men. Each party has a 
king, who is never moved excepting on ur- 
gent occasions. The rest of the men are 
moved in attitudes of contention, and when 
those of a king have all fallen into the hands 
of his enemy he is considered as conquered, 




and tlie game is won by the other. This 
was the game that Nero played, it is said, 
while Rome was burning. 

The Romans are very fond of music and 
dancing. They have a variety of wind in- 
struments, such as the flute, pipe, horn, 
trumpet, bagpipe, and syrinx. The princi- 
pal stringed instruments are the lyre and 
harp ; and they have a variety of others, 
which are beaten, such as the cymbal, drum, 
and crotalum. The syrinx is called Pan's 
pipe." or organ. It is made of seven reeds 
of different lengths placed parallel, and is 
played upon by wind from the mouth. The 
crotalum is made of split reeds that clatter in 
harmony with the motion of the dancer, who 
holds them between her fingers and shakes 
them. The sistrum is a sort of oval-shaped 
instrument with four loose rods, which give 
out musical sounds when shaken. This in 
strument is generally used at public solem- 
nities. The bagpipe is seldom heard in the 
city, excepting in some pastoral scene at the 
theatre. It is used by shepherds. It is an 
inflated bag with a mouth -piece and two 
flutes, and is played partly by i)ressure be- 
tween the arm and the body There is also 
a stringed instrument of triangular form that 
is played upon by a pointed piece of iron, 
bone, or wood. I have forgotten its name. 
The drawings will give you a clear notion 
of the forms of several of the instruments I 
have named. 

There is much private dancing here, to 
the music of the flute and lyre, in the houses 

of the citizens ; but this amusement is prin- 
cipally displayed in the circus, where it is 
seen in every variety of motion of men and" 
women, boys and girls. Some of the public 
dancing is decent and attractive, and some 
is indecent and revolting. The latter is 
most common, for it better suits the de- 
praved public taste. I give you a drawing 
of two decent dancers (young man and 
woman), and one of another sort. The mod- 
estly dressed maiden holds the crotalum in 
one hand and a bunch of flowers in the oth- 
er, which has been cast upon the stage by 
some admiring spectator. The other is 
beating the hollow disks of the cymbal. I 
might give you a long description of the 
several dances in the circus, such as the 
scenic, adapted to either a tragic, comic, or 
satiric tone. These also accompany the plays 
at the theatre, and the kind last named is 
the most popular, for the performers sing 
out toward the spectators on all sides 
taunts and sarcasms, sometimes witty, some- 
times coarse, and too often indecent ; and 
yet, strange as it may seem, these dancers 
are often employed at the funerals of the 
rich, when their satires exceed in extrava- 
gance and vulgarity those thrown out at 
the circus or theatre. 

I should be glad, dear Penda, to tell you 
all about the more public customs of these 
Romans (which are but a pixrt of their home 
life) in carrying on their worship of the 
many gods and goddesses, and their amuse- 
ments, for I have been busy in making notes 

and draAviiigs of all these in much detail ; 
but I fear I shall weary you, and so I will 
forbear. I might tell you about the inner 
arrangement of their temples, and how 
their solemn rites are performed •,• reveal to 
you the secrets of nature as represented in 
their symbols ; tell you how the priests lead 
the people in the chains of superstition ; 
how oracles and divines make predictions 
without knowledge, and lay up money by 
their craft ; of the grand Amphitheatre and 
its dreadful sjiorts, such as the deadly fights 
of gladiators, and of men with bulls and 
wild beasts ; of the sports of the circus, 
where may be seen almost every day races 
of horses and chariots, and of men afoot, 
and sometimes of elephants, dromedaries. 

and the tall, swift ostrich from Africa ; of 
the wrestlings and other athletic perform- 
ances ; of bear, dog, and cock fights ; after 
which the victors, men or beasts, are 
crowned with laurel and cheered by the ac- 
clamations of the multitude ; of the great 
public shows in the circus, where some- 
times trained lions, tigers, and leopards draw 
chariots-, and of many games of strength 
and skill conducted by champions, whose 
friends or factions are distinguished by the 
colors green, red, white, and blue. Perhaps 
I may send you another letter, telling you 
all about these things. If not, I will de- 
scribe them when we meet in the spring. 
Until then, Vale ! 


My little Love sits in thi shade 

Beneath the climbing roses, 
And gravely sews in a half-dream 
The dainty measures of her seam 

Until the twilight closes. 

I look and long, yet have no care 

To break her maiden musing; 
I idly toss my book away, 
And watch her pretty fingers stray 
Along their task confusing. 

The dews fall, and the sunset light 
Goes creeping o'er the meadows, 
And still, with serious eyes cast down, 
She gravely sews her wedding-gown 
Among the growing shadows. 

I needs must gaze, though on her cheek 

The bashful roses quiver — 
She 18 so modest, simple, sweet. 
That I, poor pilgrim, at her feet 

Would fain adore forever. 

A heavenly peace dwells in her heart; 

Her love is yet half duty. 
Serene and serious, still and quaint, 
She's partly woman, partly saint, 

This Presbyterian beauty. 

She is so shy that all my prayers 
Scarce win a few small kisses — 
She lifts her lovely eyes to mine 
And softly grants, with blush divine, 
Such slender grace as this is. 

I watch her with a tender care 

And joy not free from sadncKs — 
For wh it am T that I ptioiild lake 
This gentle soul an<l think to make 
Its future days all gladness? 

Can I fulfill thoPf maiden dreams 

In 8om(! impcrlect fanhion? 
I am no hero, but I know 
I love yon, Dear— the rest I throw 
Upon your sweet compassion. 





" rpiHIS is rather a cold morning, isn't it ?" 

JL " Cold, Sir ? She's a hiter. Bless me 
if my toes ain't a'most a-comin' off with 
cold !" 

This was rather a cnrions remark, seeing 
that it came from a person whose lower 
extremities consisted of two wooden sticks 
from the knees down. I suppose that my 
countenance betrayed my astonishment at 
it, for the old sailor smiled, and, looking 
down at his sticks, continued : 

" You see. Sir, somehow or other the cold 
weather always loosens my straps, and I feel 
as if the pins were goin' to shake me off. 
My old uns, of the real stuff, were left at 
San Juan d Ulloa, in the Mexican war, and 
since then I have been hoppin' around on 
pedestals. But there's the Harbor now, Sir, 
and that's where I have been anchored these 
twenty years. Nice place, commodore. Was 
you ever there f 

I told the old man that it was just the ob- 
ject of my visit at the present time, and that 
I had come down on the boat for no other 
purpose. I also told him that I had a letter 
to Governor Melville, and that I should be 


obliged to him if he could show me where to 
find that gentleman. 

Meanwhile the boat approached the land- 
ing, the gang-plank was drav/n ashore, and 
heavy boxes, barrels, and bundles, contain- 
ing provisions for the Harbor, were being 
carried on shore. Huge carcasses of beef 
and mutton came next, and after that came 
the living freight for the Harbor. My friend 
seized his crutches, and coming up close to 
me, whispered into my ear : Say, com- 
modore, you are goin' to call upon the gov'- 
nor, ain't you? Now, Sir, I will tell you 
how you could do a service to an old salt, if 
you wanted to. There's Jack Stubbs ; he 
rooms with me, and has got a wooden leg 
like me (but only one), and has been tabooed 
acause he came home half-seas-over the other 
night. It was his old man's birthday, you 
see, and he had been celebratin' it up in the 
city. No\v, Sir, if you could lay in a good 
word for him with the gov'nor, saying that 
he didn't mean to do it, but that he was over- 
took suddenly, or somethin' of that sort, I 
think that the gov'nor would let 'im off 
cheap. Do what you can, commodore ; Jack 
is a good boy, although he does love the 
bottle !'' 

I promised to do as asked, and we went 
together through the iron gate, and up the 
smooth walk leading to the centre or main 
building of the " Sailors' Snug Harbor." On 
our way thither I learned that the " boy," 
Jack Stubbs, for whose benefit I had prom- 
ised to interfere, was eighty-two years old, 
and that " celebrating the birthday of the 
old man" was only a slang term for getting 
a little the worse for liquor, " which will," 
my friend with the wooden legs said, " occa- 
sionally happen to some of 'em." 

Ascending the broad marble steps, we en- 
tered a large hall in the main building, 
lighted from above by a large oval window 
in the cupola, and occupied with chairs and 
benches placed across the floor, and leaving 
a narrow passage-way along the wall on ei- 
ther side. Just inside the door, and fronting 
the benches, was a reading-desk of oak with 
a red velvet cushion, and in the rear stood, 
on either side of the opposite door, two vases 
of terra cotta, filled with shrubs and flowers. 
A gallery went round the hall on all sides, 
at the height of the second floor, and above 
that was the cupola and sky-light. A large 
portrait of Captain John Whitten, who had 
once gone from Albany direct to China in a 
small sloop, and who subsequently was the 
first governor of the Harbor (from 1833 to 
1844), faces the main entrance from the gal- 
lery; and above that is a well - executed 
bust, in marble, of the founder of this grand 
institution. Captain Robert Richard Ran- 




This way. Sir, to the gov'nor's office !" 
and my frieud hobbled round to the right, 
and knocked at a door facing the hall; " and 
don't forget to lay in a word for Jack Stnbbs, 
now, commodore, if you please," he had just 
time to repeat, in a whisper, when a loud 
" Come in!" summoned me to enter. It was 
a snug and comfortable office, seated in 
wliich, before a bright fire, was the genial 
governor of the Sailors' Snug Harbor, Cap- 
tain Thomas Melville. 

After the usual salutations, I delivered 
my letters and credentials, and had at once 
a cordial welcome extended to me. Feeling 
comfortable and at ease after my rough and 
cold trip down on the boat, I did not forget 
my promise to my fellow-passenger with the 
wooden legs, but related to the governor the 
promise that had been exacted from me. 
He laughed, and promised to forgive old 
Stubbs for this once, " although," he said, 
"-he is one of the w orst we have, on account 
of his intemperance, notwithstanding his 
age. By making baskets he earns enough 
to go on a regular spree every fortnight, and 
if we x>ut no restrictions upon him, the prob- 
ability is that he would ' celebrate the old 
man's birthday' some two dozen times a 
year. By ^tabooing' him is meant that 
he is not permitted, for a certain term, to 
go outside the iron railing. There is only 
about a week left of his term, and, as you 
desire it, I shall willingly forgive the old 
man that, and x)ut him upon his good be- 



It must be said, however, in justice to the 
inmates of the Harbor, that their conduct, 
with but very few exceptions, is irreproach- 
able in every respect. It but seldom be- 
comes necessary to taboo anv body, and a 




still rarer occnrrence is the expulsion of any. 
This last measure is only resorted to in cases 
where repeated drunkenness or disorderly 
and violent conduct renders it absolutely 
necessary. Out of a population in the Har- 
bor of more than four hundred inmates, only 
five or six cases of expulsion occur in a 

There were, at the time of my visit, 396 in- 
mates in the Harbor, of all ages and belong- 
ing to all nationalities. Paragraph XI. of 
the by-laws of this institution declares : 
" All mariners, including captains and mates, 
if aged, decrepit, and worn-out sailors, are 
the proper objects of this trust. But no per- 
son shall be admitted as an inmate of the 
institution (if a foreigner born) who can not 
furnish satisfactory proof of his having sail- 
ed for at least five years under the flag of 
the United States and this further stipu- 
lation is made : " No person shall be received 
as a member of this institution who is a ha- 
bitual drunkard, or whose character is im- 
moral, or who labors under any contagious 

These are the only conditions regulating 
the admission of worn-out old mariners into 
the Sailors' Snug Harbor. By the charity 
and generosity of the founder. Captain Ran- 
dall, the gates of this snug harbor are open 
to every nationality and every creed. Of 
the 396 inmates above mentioned, only 197 
were native Americans, and these were of an 
average age of 57 j^ears ; the balance was 

mostly made up from the following nation- 
alities : 

England, 44, of an average age of 54 years. 

Ireland, 33, 
Scotland, 14, 
Germany, 24, 
Sweden, 26, 
Norway, 10, 
Denmark, 10, 
France, 5, 




48 " 

53X " 
55 " 
57 " 

5014 " 
53 " 
41>^ " 

Then there were some from Poland, Malta, 
Cape de Verd, and the Cape of Good Hope. 
The average age of the inmates is 55 years ; 
the youngest man in the institution was a 
young sailor of about 23, who had lost his 
sight by an accident, and the oldest was a 
colored man named Jacob Morris, who, at the 
time of my visit, had attained the ripe old 
age of 103 years. 

Every morning at seven o'clock a bell calls 
all the inmates down to breakfast, which 
consists of a quart of excellent coffee for 
each, and an abundant supply of home-made 
bread and butter. Dinner is on the table at 
twelve, and supper at half past five or six 
P.M., according to the season. At nine in the 
evening all the lights must be put out, ex- 
cept the lamps in the halls and in the hos- 
pital, and the inmates are expected to retire 
to rest. Except when tabooed or on the sick- 
list, every inmate is at liberty to leave the 
institution, and visit his friends in the city 
or elsewhere. All he is required to do is to 
report to the governor before leaving and 
upon his return. The gates are open for vis- 


itors every day during the week from nine 
in the morning till nine in the evening, ex- 
cept on Sundays, when no visitors are re- 

The inmates were at their dinner in the 
large and attractive dining-hall when we en- 
tered it. This is situated on the ground- 
floor of a large building in the rear of the 
main or central huilding, with which it com- 
municates by a wooden bridge, raised about 
ten feet above the ground. The largest din- 
ing-ro©m contains twelve long tables, each 
of which can accommodate thirty-two diners. 
In another dining-room opi)osito there are 
four tables, each capable of accommodating 
the same number. The dinner on this par- 
ticular day consisted of mutton-stew, which 
was served up in large tin tureens. The 
spoons and forks were of the best white 
metal, each bearing the stamp " Sailors' Snug 
Harbor," and the quality of the dinner was 
exjcellent. Each man had a tumbler of wa- 
ter in front of his plate, and of bread and 
meat as much as he desired. The table-lin- 
en was perfectly white and clean, and alto- 
gether the appearance of the dining-hall was 
more like that of a good substantial hotel 
than of a charitable institution. 

Grace was said before dinner, and thanks 
were also offered after meals. Waiters, in 
long white aprons, were busily engaged 
among the tables in removing empty dishes 
and substituting filled and steaming ones 
in their places. Satisfaction and happiness 
shone in the face of every one ; and I have 
no doubt that many an old sailor, at the 
bottom of his heart, on this cold and win- 
try day, silently blessed the memory of his 

There is nowhere another institution con- 
ceived in the same spirit of liberal and un- 
limited benevolence, the famous Greenwich 
Hospital not excepted ; nowhere else does 
the old sailor, after having braved many a 
storm and frequently faced death, find so 
safe and snug a harbor. There, seated in a 
warm and comfortable room, he can through 
the window look out ux^on the scenes of his 
former life as a mariner ; there is the deep 
blue sea, covered with numerous craft, re- 
minding him of the time when he himself 
braved its dangers, and recalling adventures 
in foreign climes, that, sitting there by the 
window in his easy-chair, ho is fond of rela- 

Captain Robert Richard Randall, of the 
city of New York, by his last will and testa- 
ment, dated June 1, 1801, after leaving cer- 
tain specific legacies, bequeathed all the 
residue of his estate, real and personal, to 
the Chancellor of the State, the Mayor and 
Recorder of the city of New York, the presi- 
dent of the Chamber of Commerce, the pres- 
ident and vice-president of the Marine So- 
ciety, the senior minister of the Episcopal 
Church, and the senior minister of the Pres- 


byterian Church, in said city, and their suc- 
cessors in office respectively, to be received 
by them intrust, and applied to the erection 
of an asylum or marine hospital, to be called 
" The Sailors' Snug Harbor," for the main- 
tenance and support of decrepit, aged, and 
worn-out sailors. 

The institution was to be opened as soon 
as the income from the estate, in the judg- 
ment of the trustees, should seem sufficient 
to support fifty seamen. But tfee persons 
thus designated as trustees being also the 
appointed executors of the will of Captain 
Randall, soon found themselves inconven- 
ienced in the management of the estate by 
reason of the changes which took place in 
the ordinary course of elections and ap- 
pointments to these offices, and therefore 
applied for, and in February, 1806, received, 
an act of incorporation from the Legislature. 
The first trustees were John Lansing, Jun., 
Chancellor of State ; De Witt Clinton, May- 
or ; Maturin Livingston, Recorder of the 
city ; John Murray, president of the Cham- 
ber of Commerce; James Farquar and Thom- 
as Farmar, president and vi'^ie-president of 
the- Marine Society; the Rev. Benjamin 
Moore, senior minister of the Episcopal 
Church ; and the Rev. John Rodgers, senior 
minister of the Presbyterian Church. At 
their first meeting they elected officers, 
adopted by-laws, and appointed a committee 
to prepare a suitable design for a seal for 
the corporation, the device of which, when 
subsequently adopted, represented a harbor 
formed by two points of land j^rojecting into 
the sea, in which a ship appears riding safe- 
ly at anchor, and on the shore, in the back- 
ground, a view of the hospital, with the mot- 
to, Portiim x>cUmus fessi. 

In October, 1806, the reported income of 
the whole estate was $4243. Eight years 
later the annual income had increased to 
ab(mt $6000 ; and in the same year the New 
York Legislature, owing to some difficulties 
which had arisen in determining who were 
the senior ministers of the Episcopal and 
Presbyterian churches, decided that the rec- 
tor of Trinity Church and the minister of 
the Presl)yterian church then located in 
Wall Street were of the trustees of said cor- 
poration. An act also was appended re- 
quiring the trustees to make an annual re- 
port of the state of the funds held by them 
to the Legislature of the State, and to the 
Common Council of the city. Thus the 
State and the city of New York were con- 
stituted tlio guardians of the trust. In 1817 
the total income of the estate was $6659 92 ; 
and during that year the trustees petitioned 
the Legislature for permission to change the 
site of the hospital. Instead of erecting it 
on the twenty-one acres of ground in the. 
upper part of the city, as had been contem- 
plated by the testator, which plan would 
absorb a large portion of their revenues, de- 












I C E 


preciate the value of the adjoining lots, and 
necessarily confine the inmates to narrow 
limits, they asked to be authorized to pur- 
chase ground for the hospital at the en- 
trance to, or in sight of, the harbor of New 
York. A short time previous they had been 
tendered the liberal oiler of a conveyance 
gratuitously of a lot of land, not less than 
ten acres, on Staten Island, situated on the 
bay between Point Diamond and the quar- 
antine grounds, then belonging to, and offer- 
ed by, Daniel D. Tompkins. 

This permission was, however, not granted 
by the Legislature until 1828, after a delay of 

eleven years, the result of numerous lawsuits 
against the trustees by various parties that 
claimed to be the legal heirs of Captain 
Randall. Troubles and suits seemed to in- 
volve the estate upon all sides, and large 
sums of money were expended in disposing 
of them. It was not until March, 1830, that 
a final decision in this matter, by the Su- 
preme Court of the United States, in favor 
of the trustees, set at rest all doubts as to 
the validity of the disputed will. 

In May of the following year (1831) the 
trustees purchased their present site upon 
Staten Island, consisting of a farm contain- 
ing 130 acres of land, for the sum of $10,000. 
Subsequently they purchased 21 acres more, 
with a water-privilege, which had been orig- 
inally a part of this farm, but had been sold, 
and was used for manufacturing purposes , 
the price paid for this part of the property 
being $6000. These two parcels of land now 
constitute the farm and grounds of the Sail 
ors' Snug Harbor. At a still later period the 
trustees added to the farm, by lease, 36 acres 
o# excellent woodland. 

In October, 1831, was laid the corner-stone 
of the main building, which, over a marble 
foundation, was built of brick, two stories 
high, with a X'Oi'tico supported by eight 
Doric pillars in Vermont marble. A broad 
flight of marble steps leads to the main en- 
trance, and the centre of the roof supports a 
low cupola of an oval shape. This build- 
ing, embracing all of what was then the 
Sailors' Snug Harbor, was completed in 1833, 

0:>lii Oi'- TIUJ BLlilJi'ING-iiOOMe. 



and formally opened on the 1st of August of 
that year with great festivities, furnishing a 
home for thirty aged and worn-out sailors. 

Suhsequently two wings were added to 
the main building, and connected with this 
by two covered corridors of one story each. 
These wings are built of the same material, 
and are of the same height as the main 
building, and are wholly occupied by sleep- 
ing apartments. The centre or main build- 
ing has a frontage of 65 feet, with a depth 
of 100 feet ; each of the two wings is 51 feet 
by 100; and the connecting corridors are 
each 39 feet 6 inches in length. Later yet 
the rear building was erected, of dimensions 
nearly similar to those of the main building, 
but three stories in height, the two upper 
stories being partitioned off into lodging 
and sleeping rooms. 

In front of the main building is the mar- 
ble monument erected over the remains of 
the founder, which were, in August, 18.34, re- 
moved hither from their original jdace of 

After the successful termination of the 
numerous lawsuits and intrigues that had 
for such a long time embarrassed the trust- 
ees, the revenues of the estate increased at 
an extraordinary ratio ; and as at the same 
time the value of the real estate owned by 
the corporation in the upper i)art of New 
York had more than trebled in value, it is 
not surprising that the income of the estate 
in 1855 amounted to the handsome sum of 
Voi„ XLVI.— No. 272,-13 

$75,000, while the institution at that time 
supported three hundred inmates. And 
since then the annual income has kept on 
increasing, making for 1870 a total amount 
of about $127,000. 

The greater part of the ground-floor in 
the main building is occupied by the hall 
already described, which is used in the win- 
ter months for religious services every morn- 
ing and night, thus obviating the necessity 
of heating the chapel except on Sundays. 
All the buildings are heated by hot air from 
furnaces in the basements. To the left of 
the hall is the reading-room, where all the 
leading dailies, weeklies, and magazines can 
be found ; and behind that is the library, 
well stocked with books, mostly consisting 
of narratives of travel and adventurer, and 
books of voyages and exploring expeditions. 
On the opposite side, to the right of the en- 
trance, are the office and private room of 
the governor, and up stairs are the sleeping 
apartments, facing on the gallery. In the 
basement are long airy corridors and work- 
rooms, where a great i)art of the inmates ar<' 
occupied in basket-making. This industry 
is carried on to a very great extent in this 
institution, as it is easy work. re(|niring no 
strength or special skill, and a })nrsiiit in 
which the blind can also engage. Tiie im- 
portance of this industry may be estinjat<'d 
from the fact that dnring a singh^ year bas- 
kets were made by the innia'cH th;it sold u\ 
the market for very nearly >^:\0,UUO, avera- 



ging an income of about $75 for each inmate. 
These baskets are bought up mostly by two 
large New York houses, and a considerable 
proportion of them, as also of the mats made 
there, are shipped to and sold in Boston. 
The materials used in the manufacture of 
mats and baskets (Spanish palm leaf and 
rattan) are bought by the inmates them- 
selves, and the whole profit belongs to them 
individually, and is for the greater part spent 
for tobacco and in the purchase of minor 
comforts. One old salt from New Hamp- 
shire had acquired a private library, num- 
bering some forty odd volumes, which he 
had in his room, nicely arranged in a book- 
case of his own manufactirre, with glass 
doors. His latest acquisition was the " His- 
tory of Julius CsBsar," by the ex-Emperor 
Napoleon, bound in green and gold. 

In the basement are also some of the wash- 
rooms, furnished with iron basins and large 
towels on rollers, where the old sailors per- 
form their daily ablutions and make their 
toilet, as washing in the rooms is prohibited. 
Passing through the wide and airy corridors, 
we found about sixty old men, some of them 
blind, engaged in basket-making, while at 
one end of the hall sat a blind man prepar- 
ing the palm leaf for use, by splitting it and 
drawing it between two sharp knives fast- 
ened into a block of wood before him, by 
which it is cut into a imiform thickness and 
width. At the foot of the stairs sat a man, 
apparently not very old, and in good health, 
busily engaged in finishing the centre piece 
of a knife-basket. 

" Hallo, Davy !" Governor Melville hailed 
him, " how are baskets to-day V 

Davy, turning his lustreless eyes upon us, 

" Dull, gov'nor — a'mighty dull ; haven't 

sold a basket this fortnight. Think I will 
leave the basket business and go into mats." 

This man, whose name was David James, 
was, I learned, the oldest inmate in the in- 
stitution (though not by any means the old- 
est man), he being one of the thirty original 
inmates. He was then twenty-seven years 
old, and has been an inmate of the Harbor 
for thirty-seven years. 

Here we also found, engaged in basket- 
making like the rest, a veteran from the war 
of 1812, named Daniel Collins, who had been 
twice captured in American merchantmen 
by the English cruisers. Nearly opposite 
him, with a large mat upon his knees, with 
which he was busily engaged, sat Cornelius 
Rose, an old white-haired and w^hite-bearded 
sailor, who joined the American navy in 
1812, belonged to the schooner Enterprise 
when she was captured by the English brig 
Boxer, and was one of the crew of the frigate 
President when, under the command of De- 
catur, that gallant ship fought three English 
frigates. He belonged to the old Constitution 
for nine years, and took an active part in 
the Mexican and Florida wars. His records 
and papers show that he has participated in 
no less than twenty-seven conflicts. 

Besides basket - making the old sailors 
have other means of making money, one 
of the most common of which is fishing. 
A large proportion of the money which 
they accumulate, as we have already said, 
goes for tobacco. Of course no sailor can be 
tabooed for smoking. 

On our way up stairs again the governor 
pointed out to me the " Swedish lawyer," so 
called from his nationality, and the fact of 
his being, or considering himself as being, 
the bright particular star, concentrating 
within himself the erudition of the whole 



community. He 
seemed to be not 
unlike our friend 
Jack Bunsby, and 
at the very time 
when we passed 
him he was en- 
gaged in laying 
down his opinion 
to another sailor, 
and I seemed to 
hear the familiar 
words, " Whereby 
— if so — why not ? 
The bearings of the 
observation lies in 
the application of 
it — awast, then !" 

Crossing the 
bridge, we again 
enter the rear build- 

\j}g, the basement of which is occupied by 
the kitchen, the store-room, steward's office, 
colored men's mess, and blind men's mess. 
Here, also, are the apartments in which the 
assistants and employes of the institution 
take their meals. The blind men have two 
waiters to attend to their wants and assist 
fchem ; but beyond some help at table, they 
require no aid, but navigate the whole build- 
ing, up stairs and down stairs, assisted only 
by a cane, with which they feel their way. 
Here we meet one of the most interesting of 
the blind men just coming from his dinner. 
It is Captain John M'Ewen, who in 1813, 


while belonging to the privateer Vengeance, 
of New York, assisted at the capture of 
tweutv-one British vessels. Afterward he 
became the captain of an East ludiaman, 
and was for many years a prominent, suc- 
cessful, and well-known master of ships in 
the East India trade. But misfortunes over- 
took him ; he lost his sight, and consequent- 
ly became unable to follow his profession, 
and he is now a much-esteemed inmate of 
the Harbor. Passing from this building, we 
cross the grounds to the hospital, stopping 
on the way to have a look at the steam- 
laundry and bakery. 




The hospital is a niagnificeut and solid 
building of gray sandstone, built in the 
same style as the main building, with mass- 
ive pillars supporting a portico over the en- 
trance. In the basement are the kitchen 
and work-rooms for the convalescent patients 
who desire to work at their usual occupation 
— basket-making. On the tirst Hoor is a 
large hall with a gallery or promenade over- 
head, and also the mess-rooms ; and the up- 
per story is occupied by the wards, which 
are all large, light, and airy, and have five 
or six iron bedsteads in each. On entering 
we were met at once by old Webster, who is 
now in the ninety-fourth year of his age. 
He was admitted an inmate of the Sailors' 
Snug Harbor in 1844, then sixty-seven years 
old. It must be confessed that age has — as 
he said himself — "rather brought him 
down." His mouth is toothless, his eyes 
watery and dim ; but his white hair and 
long white beard give him a venerable ap- 
pearance. He speaks with difficulty, and is 
perfectly helpless at table. 

" Well, Webster, how goes it ?" the gov- 
ernor said, approaching him and wiping off 
his beard, full of crumbs of bread from his 
dinner, with his pocket-handkerchief. 

A-a-all ri-ght, go\ '-nor ; b-but why don't 
the d-doctor c-come to see m-me f ' 

" Why, Webster, are you sick ? If so, the 
doctor shall, of course, come to see you, and 
I will send for him at once.'' 

"N-no, gov'-nor, I a-ain't sick; but I'm 
a-getting old !" 

" Well, the doctor can't help that, you 
know ; but if you feel sick or need the doc- 
tor's assistance, why, then, of course, you 
shall have it at once." 

"No, gov'-nor, I d-don't want the d-doc- 
tor, if you will let me g-go out alone ; I c-can 
t-tr-travel without a p-pilot !" 

To this, however, the governor would not 
assent, much to the mortification of old 
Webster, who insisted that he was well 
enough to travel over to New York and 
come back again without an escort. He is 
at liberty to go out whenever he pleases if 
the weather is fair and nothing particularly 
is the matter with him ; but he has always 
an assistant or a reliable brother inmate to 
accompany him and take care of him. This 
old man is, however, notAvithstanding his 
age, of a very belligerent disposition ; thus, 
a short time ago it became necessary to tahoo 
him for a month because he knocked one 
of the patients on the head with his cane, 
getting excited during an argument over 
some small matter ; and it was but a week 
))revious to my visit that he challenged one 
of the younger boys of seventy-five outside 
to a personal combat as a means of settling 
a little difficulty between them. 

We found lying in bed, in one of the wards, 
with a bowl of chicken soup on a small table 
beside him, an invalid, Charles Risby, Norwe- 

gian by birth, and seventy-seven years old. 
He arrived in this country at Boston on the 
day that the long embargo went into opera- 
tion. During the war of 1812 he belonged to 
the Constitution, on board of which he i)ar- 
ticipated in the fight with the Guerriere. 
In the same w ard was Ebenezer Lakemann, 
who, while serving in the American priva- 
teer Buckshin, of Salem, Massachusetts, in 
1813, captured the English schooner Mari- 
anne, which was recaptured, with him on 
board as prize-master, by the English frig- 
ate Maidstone. He was taken to England 
and imprisoned there, and afterward ex- 
changed for one of the crew of the Guerriere 

In a ward on the opposite side of the hall, 
looking bright and cheerful, and ornamented 
with several bird-cages containing chirping 
and twirling canaries, we found old Jacob 
Morris (colored), who entered the Sailors' 
Snug Harbor in the year 1848, then at the 
age of eighty He was now in the 104th year 
of his age, and had, until very lately, been 
well and up every day, walking around the 
grounds as one of the youngest. "But, 
gov'nor," he said, " me getting feeble, sah ; 
bery feeble! Me can not now leave bed, 
sah*, bery weak in de joints, sah; and bo- 
som pangs here — Jie7'e and he pressed his 
hands against the left side of his breast. 
It was evident that he could not live long. 

The wards for the sick were all well light- 
ed by windows reaching from the ceiling to 
the floor, and well heated and ventilated 
Nearly every room had bird-cages and flow 
ers in it, and the walls were painted a del- 
icate lavender, pleasant to the eye, and im- 
parting a soft and cheerful appearance to the 

Leaving the hospital we proceeded to vis- 
it the farm belonging to this institution, and 
were accompanied thither by another old 
veteran, John Strain. 

The products of the farm in 1870 amount- 
ed to $9067 60, Allowing for expenses for 
conducting and stocking it — $3768 87 — there 
remained a net profit of $5298 73, which is 
a very handsome exhibit. Among the arti- 
cles raised may be named 5465 eggs, 20,662 
quarts of milk, 1722 bushels of potatoes, 5627 
heads of cabbage, 2990 heads of lettuce, 16,410 
cucumbers, besides great quantities of car- 
rots, radishes, beets, corn, string-beans, on- 
ions, sweet-potatoes, squashes, water-melons, 
etc., etc. The live stock consisted of 12 
milch cows, 4 young heifers, 1 Albany bull, 
and 90 hogs, besides oxen and horses. Of 
poultry there are kept about 70 chickens, 
mostly for the use of the hospital. An ice- 
house is also erected here, in which is stored 
away the ice for the use of the Harbor, which 
is obtained from a pond situated on their 

Away back, south of these buildings, liep 
a fine stone building, belonging to a society 
of ladies in New York and on Staten Island, 


bnt erected upon grouud belonging to the 
Sailors' Snug Harbor, which is occupied as 
a " Home for Destitute Seamen's Children." 
These ladies work in silence ; there is no 
ostentation about the distribution of their 
charities. But they labor earnestly, and in 
a good cause. 

The chaplain belonging to the Sailors' 
Snug Harbor lives with his family in a large 
and comfortable house situated on the prem- 
ises, in the rear of the chapel, which was 
erected in 1855. Here services are held ev- 
ery Sunday during the winter, and every 
day, morning and night, during summer. 
The chapel is a plain but handsome brick 
building, without any cupola or belfry, but 
with large stained windows. The interior 
is plain, but scrupulously neat and taste- 
fully decorated ; and upon two long tablets, 
one on each side of the altar, are inscribed 
the names of all the trustees and officers that 
ha'^e been connected with the Harbor since 
its first ojiening. 

The doctor also lives upon the premises, 
in a fine house situated near the road and 
facing the Kills, far in advance and to the 
right of the main buildings. The governor's 
house occupies a similar position on the op- 
posite side, to the left of the main build- 
ings; and from both of these dwellings a 
flagged walk leads to the main entrance of 
the centre building. Directly in front of 
this, surrounded by an iron railing, is the 
plain marble monument that covers the re- 
mains of the founder of this noble charity. 

The old sailors are not allowed to keep 
dogs. To some of them this is a great dep- 
rivation. These lovers of the canine spe- 
cies are obliged to gratify their peculiar 
tastes outside the limits of the institution. 
With one of them, known as " the bone 
man," the passion for dogs amounts to a 
monomania. In order to render himself at- 
tractive to his favorites he fills his pockets 
with bones and wanders off into obscure 
haunts and by-ways, where he may often 
be seen surrounded and followed by his not 
entirely disinterested clients. 

That the revenues of the Sailors' Snug 
Harbor in the course of time will be largely 
increased when the long leases shall have 
expired, and their up-town property be re- 
leased on more favora])le terms than at pres- 
ent, there can be no doubt ; and this will, 
of course, admit of a still further extension 
of the institution, and the accommodation 
of a still greater number of aged, decrepit, 
and worn-out sailors. The greater part of 
Mr. Stewart's store, situated on Broadway 
and Tenth Street, in New York, is erect- 
ed upon leased ground owned by the Sail- 
ors', Snug Harbor, as are also many other 
costly stores and buildings in the upper x)art 
of the city The resources of the institution 
are very amyde, and they are honestly and 
judiciously applied in accordance with the 

- — J 


design of the testator, being in the hands of 
gentlemen well known for their integrity, 
and of the highest social standing. 

As I left I was accompanied to the gate 
by an old veteran, who told me that his 
name was John Perz, and that he had been 
captured and taken to England as a prison- 
er in 1814 by the British ship of the line 
Elizaheth, of seventy-four guns ; and just as 
I got outside the gate somebody seized my 
hand and said, Thank you, Sir, thank you : 
much obliged. Sir!" and turning round I be- 
held my friend of the morning on his two 
stumps, in company with the delinquent 
Jack Stubbs, who held his hat in his hand. , 
looking somewhat sheep-faced, and staring 
at the knob at the end of his wooden leg. 
The governor had kept his promise : he was 
outside the iron railing, and consequently 
no longer tabooed. 


Fain would I quaff the wondrous wine of sleep. 

That wizard wine so rich with Morjihean spells : 

I drink ! and lo ! the dawn of twilight dells, 
Dew-laden, calm ; along whose pathways deep 
Glide shadowy phantoms ; some with eyes that weep 

Slow tears, and voices of forlorn farewells ; 

And some on whose sweet presence purely dwells 
The love-light none but blissful hearts can keep. 

Then widens the strange landscape, thronged with 

Familiar once as morning : here, arch looks 
Flash through heat lightnings of a summer mirth ; 
There, tones more musical than woodland brooks, 
When o'er their waves the murmurous May-fly swarms. 
Make lovelier still sleep's charmed heaven and earth ! 




SIR JOHN HERSCHEL somewliat unc- 
tuously called London "the centre of 
the terrene globe." Emerson says that all 
things precious, or useful, or amusing, or in- 
toxicating are sucked into English com- 
merce, and floated to London. A recent 
writer, speaking of the metropolis, says that 
" London is an epitome of the world, a mu- 
seum of all human anatomies, a mirror for 
all the passions, a show-room for all the 
antiquities and splendors, a universal gala 
ground, and a perpetual mourning house." 
London is also the metropolis of the world's 
literature. Its literary memories are impos- 
ing, and are thickly strewed through all the 
years of four centuries. Every where, in its 
aristocratic squares and its business marts 
and its squalid purlieus, is London dotted 
with spots consecrated as the haunts of lit- 
erary greatness. ^Vho of the literary guild 
or with the book-reading passion would not 
rather see the Mitre Tavern than a royal pro- 
cession, or have peeped, a little more than a 
year ago, into the little office of All the Year 
Bound than have been received by a Secre- 
tary of State ? Of all its wonders, we think 
most reverently of all of its antiquarian and 
literary wonders ; and chief among these is 
the British Museum. 

The British Museum is not only the resort 
of the curious in antiquities and the studi- 
ous in ancient and modern lore — it is also a 
great popular resort, an inestimable boon to 
the masses. On Christmas-day in 1871 no 
less than 11,000 persons wandered through 
its corridors and gazed upon its treasures ; 
ninety-nine out of every hundred of these 
were artisan laborers, their wives, and their 
children ; and the police reported that, as 
was proper to a temple consecrated to letters 
and the arts, " the people were sober, order- 
ly, and exceedingly well-behaved." The 
Museum has been thrown open to the gen- 
eral public for many years on every day ex- 
cepting Saturdays, and during certain brief 
periods required for repairs, cleaning, and 
rearranging the contents. It occupies the 
site, in Great Russell Street, of two famous 
mansions which bore the name of Montague 
House, having been the residence of the 
Dukes of Montague ; and the first nucleus 
of what is now the British Museum was the 
second of these edifices. It was considered 
at the time of its erection the most splendid 
private residence in London ; and we may 
imagine the courtiers and wits of the Res- 
toration and of Queen Anne thronging the 
hospitable ducal halls, which were not many 
years thence to be purchased by the nation, 
and to receive the earliest contribution to a 
national museum in the shape of Sir William 
Hamilton's Roman vases and curiosities. 


Although Sir William Hamilton's collec- 
tion was the first national possession which 
formed the beginnings of a museum, the 
credit of inaugurating the present noble in- 
stitution must be given to a wealthy and 
benevolent disciple of -^sculapius. In 1753 
Sir Hans Sloane died, leaving behind him 
not only a library comprising 50,000 volumes, 
but also an extensive museum of antiquities 
and rare works of art. He directed by his 
will that these should be sold to the govern- 
ment for twenty thousand pounds. A lot- 
tery was opened, with official sanction, to 
raise funds for establishing a national muse- 
um, and the sum of £95,194 produced there- 
by, and £20,000 of this was devoted to the 
purchase of the Sloane collection. To this 
was added the Hamilton collection, the Cot- 
ton and Harleian manuscripts — rich mines 
of wealth to the historian and biographer, 
in several thousand volumes — and such other 
unclassified antiquities as lay in the govern- 
ment offices. 

Among the subsequent contributions were 
the Townley marbles fin 1805), the Gallery of 
Antiquities, the Greville minerals, the Elgin 
and Phigalian marbles, the libraries of King 
George HI. (70,000 volumes, including souie 
of the rarest and most precious of old tomes 
and volumes), of Sir Joseph Banks (16,000 
volumes), of Dr. Burney (father of Fanny 
D'Arblay), of Lord Guilford, of M. Ginguen<^, 
of Mr. Grenville, and many others, the su- 
perb collection of Egyptian antiquities, and 
vast ornithological , mineral, antiquarian, and 
scientific collections, which now bewilder the 
eye to weariness as the vista of corridor aft- 
er corridor opens to the sight. 

The Museum, as it was in its Montague 
House days, is described as a charmingly cozy 
nook, surrounded by pleasant fields and gar- 
dens, and not, as now, shut in by closely 
packed brick squares and streets. Those 
fields were historic, in a manner. There not 
only were the cows of the nobility pastured, 
but the young bloods of the nobility were 
" pinked" in many a hot-headed duel ; there 
Lord Eldon found refuge when, during the 
Corn-law riots of the Regency, the mob at- 
tacked his house near by ; and there, on 
Sundays, the young men and women of two 
generations ago were wont to take their 
after-dinner strolls, coming thither from all 
directions. Among the habitues of the Muse- 
um when Cary, the translator of Dante, was 
one of the librarians, were Coleridge, Lamb, 
and Rogers, about whose visits there many 
stories are told. But even the magnificent 
house of the Dukes of Montague was soon 
found insufficient to hold the treasures that 
rapidly accumulated, and about forty years 
ago it gave place to the present structure. 



The Museum of to-day appropriately har- 
monizes in its exterior with the extent and 
value of its contents. Its frontage on Great 
Russell Street — which, by-the-way, is one of 
the dirtiest and narrowest of London streets 
despite its sounding name — is no less than 
three hundred and seventy feet. Between 
the building and the street is a spacious 
paved court, bounded by high gilded rail- 
ings. At the gate is a little porter's lodge, 
and here stands a very British-looking por- 
ter, to observe that those who enter are re- 
spectable and orderly in behavior. The 
building itself comprises a centre and two 
very broad wings ; the whole is surrounded 
by a lofty colonnade of forty-four plain col- 
umns, with sculptured capitals, beneath 
. which, in the central section, is a spacious 
portico, reached by a wide flight of steps. 
Over the main entrance is to be observed a 
large pediment, upon which appears an al- 
legorical group representing " The Progress 
of Civilization," the work of Sir Richard 
Westmacott. This immense building is so 
dimmed, begrimed, and made sombre by the 
fogs and gusts and long, dreary storms of 
London that unless one looks closely he is 
not likely to observe the materials which 
compose it. These are immense blocks of 
stone, of which an English writer says: 
''Since the days of Trajan or Hadrian no 
such stones have been used as those employed 
at the British Museum, where eight hundred 
stones, of from five to nine tons' weight, form 
the front. Even St. Paul's Cathedral con- 
tains no approach to these magnitudes." It 
is only when you have entered the court 
and approached near to the edifice that you 
realize how vast it is; then it seems to 
dwarf the palaces and cathedrals, the public 
offices and club-houses, which have before 
seemed so imposing to the wanderer among 
London monuments. The extent of the 
building can not, however, be judged from 
the front view, and the seven acres which it 
covers can only be appreciated after the 
tour of the many galleries has quite exhaust- 
ed the sight-seer in legs, eyes, and mind. 
Entering the hall from the portico, you find 
. it to be constructed in the Doric style, 
and to be richly decorated in encaustic, and 
adorned by busts and statues of patrons of 
the Museum. There stands, also, the famous 
statue of Shakspeare, presented by Garrick, 
and Chantrey's statue of Sir Joseph Banks. 
In the hall are the offices of the custodians, 
stands for the sale of guide-books and cata- 
logues, and repositories for canes and um- 
brellas. The ground-floor is divided into 
four sections : the hall, the galleries of sculp- 
ture on the left of the entrance, the library 
and manuscript apartments on the right, 
and immediately in front the corridor lead- 
ing to the vast circular reading-room, which 
will be presently described. 

It gives but an inadequate idea of the 

Museum collection to say that it is the finest 
sculptural and antiquarian gallery in Great 
Britain ; in some departments it is the rarest 
in the world. On turning to the left, after 
entering the vestibule, one finds a series of 
curiosities which have a peculiar interest as 
illustrating remote English history. Tliis 
is the "Anglo -Roman Gallery." Here are 
seen the remains of the Roman works of 
useful and ornamental art which have been 
excavated from beneath modern London. 
During the economic and sanitary improve- 
ments which have been going on through 
the past forty years, mute witnesses of the 
ancient occupation of London by the Roman 
invaders have been from time to time dis- 
covered. These relics have been regularly 
accumulated at the Museum. Perhaps the 
most interesting are some old Roman tombs, 
strikingly like those which still stand on 
the Appian Way and in the Street of the 
Tombs at Pompeii, and Mosaic pavements, 
which Roman art could alone devise, and 
Roman skill alone execute. These relics 
are corroborative proof that London was a 
capital city very early in, or preceding, the 
Christian era. It is a tradition that Caesar, 
coming to conquer the aborigines, found a 
colony of Flemings on the banks of the 
Thames ; that these, from the width of the 
river at that point, called the place " Llyn- 
Dyn"— that is, " City of the Lake"— whicli 
name Ceesar Latinized to "Lundinium," or 
" Londinium," whence the modern appella- 
tion. A Roman bath was found in Billings- 
gate ; on the hill where St. Paul's stands 
once stood the temple of Diana; and the 
Roman citadel, it is believed, reared itself 
on Tower Hill. The Museum exhibits not 
only tombs and mosaics, but lamps, weap- 
ons, amulets, urns, coins, and beads, whose 
appearance and inscriptions indicate in no 
doubtful manner the presence of a settled 
Roman civilization on the banks of the 
Thames. Passing further along, a most in- 
teresting series of busts of the Roman em- 
perors, brought from Italy, is discovered ; 
these take you back, with almost the vivid- 
ness of a saunter through Pompeii, to the 
Ctesarian era, and reproduce the heroes and 
villains of the imperial city very clearly to 
the mind's eye. There is Caesar Augustus, 
with his noble long head, his broad brow 
and thin lips, and his bold, strong noso.; 
Nero, with gross, coarse face, fierce and bru- 
tal ; Domitian, fat-chinned and bull-necked ; 
Trajan, intellectual and bland; Antonine, 
with gently aquiline nose and genial smile; ; 
and handsome Marcus Anrelius, curly of hnir, 
not unlike the busts of Alcibiades — the 
faces all so exquisitely cut by tlie s(!uli)tor'H 
chisel that they seem living, and tlicir lii>s 
about to part and speak. The next gallery, 
passing always around leftward, consists of 
the "GrfBCO- Roman Saloons," whore are 
many ancient sculptures of remarkable beau- 



ty, as well as a bewildering multitude of 
military and domestic utensils, bejeweled, 
chased, and enameled ornaments, bass-reliefs, 
and coins. The most striking of these an- 
tiquities is the sculpture of the quoit-player 
(Discobolus) found among the ruins of Hadri 
au's villa at Tibur, which is again and again 
reproduced in our own parlors in Parian and 
plaster. " The Lycian Gallery" comes next 
in order, and thus we pass from remote to 
yet remoter civilizations — from Roman Lon- 
don to old Rome and Greece, and from these 
to that of Asia Minor. The antiquities of 
this gallery were brought from the Lycian 
cities, especiall}^ from Xanthus, whose splen- 
did ruins Sir Charles Fellowes discovered 
some thirty years ago. He removed its 
most valuable treasures to London, among 
them two great dome-shaped tombs of Lyc- 
ian satraps. The Egyptian Gallery" and 
the " Assyrian Gallery" are yet more replete 
with curiosities which at once symbolize 
and illustrate remote African civilization. 
In the former there are colossal idols — the 
Sphinx, Isis, and Osiris a hundred times re- 
peated, sarcophagi and monuments, tombs 
of the Ptolemys and the Ramiseses, sepul- 
chral tablets and statues of remote sover- 
eigns, funeral vases and pillars — all crowded 
with the hieroglyphics which still puzzle the 
archaiologist as well as amuse the merely 
curious. Memphis and Thebes are plenti- 
fully represented ; there stands the colossal 
granite statue of Ramises IL, from Thebes, 
and the granite lions from Nubia. In the 
Assyrian transept and gallery are to be 
found the treasures Avith which the perse- 
verance of Layard has endowed the nation ; 
the relics from Nineveh are of most impor- 
tant interest to the archaeologist, and give 
clearer hints of the wonderful era of its 
grandeur than any thing hitherto discover- 
ed. Among them may be noted the bass-re- 
liefs from Sennacherib's palace, the winged 
and human-headed lions and bulls of Nim- 
roud, the monuments of Sargon, who led the 
Ten Tribes into captivity, contemporary hie- 
roglyphics describing the exploits of Sar- 
danapalus, and inscriptions recounting the 
story of Nebuchadnezzar ! Not less suggest- 
ive in the Assyrian galleries are the glass 
and the ivory, the bronzes, mosaics, and mu- 
sical instruments, the seals and playthings in 
common use among the Assyrians of old ; 
liere, too, you see the products of the relig- 
ious fancies of this great people — the winged 
figures, the sacrificing monarchs, the half- 
eagle, half- lion monster who typified the 
struggle between the powers of good and 
evil, and that winged circle which is sup- 
posed to have been a symbol of the Assyrian 

In 1802 Lord Elgin, then embassador to 
the Sublime Port(!, received i)erniission from 
the Sultan to ransack the Parthenon at 
Athens, which city happened to be under 

temi>orary Turkish dominion, and to carry 
otf therefrom whatsoever he might choose. 
The ijrivilege was made the most of: the 
eager embassador proceeded not only to strip 
the Parthenon of the treasures it still con- 
tained, but to take down and ship off parts 
of the edifice itself. These are now to be 
seen in the "Elgin Saloon" in the British 
Museum, and are familiarly known as the 
" Elgin Marbles." The pediment of the Par- 
thenon, with its splendid bass-reliefs and its 
perfect proportions, is there, and may be 
compared with a model of the temple which 
is placed on a table just by it. There, too, 
are the metopes and the frieze, the latter rep- 
resenting the battles of the Centaurs and 
the Lapithaj. The sculptures in the Elgin 
Saloon confirm the highest judgment of the 
perfection which sculpture as an art reached 
among the Greeks ; even the fragments speak 
to us of their wonderful skill and taste, and 
the refinement of their conceptions of the 
beautiful. One of the most j^recious privi- 
leges of the Museum is that we are able to 
comjiare races and ages by their works ; and 
a comparison, even by a superficial modern 
eye, between the Assyrian or Lycian and the 
Greek antiquities here preserved is enough 
to convince one of the immeasurable superi- 
ority of the latter in delicacy of imagination 
and cunning of execution. 

The last of the antiquarian galleries on 
the ground-floor is the "Phigalian Saloon," 
containing curiosities discovered by Chan- 
dler at Phigalea, an Arcadian city, in 1765. 

These ground-floor apartments present a 
most attractive panorama of the arts and 
usages of the older nations, with their sculp- 
tures, their articles of ornament, their bronzes, 
vases, terra cottas, medals, bass-reliefs, tools, 
weapons, garments, wax figures, paintings, 
tablets, furnitures — collections illustrating 
the customs and manners, the military sci- 
ence, the religious ceremonies, and the tlirifty 
arts of the Chinaman and the African, the 
Indian and the Mexican, the Greek, Roman, 
and Egyptian ; and coins of all metals — his- 
tories themselves in suggestive epitome. 

Ascending the broad staircase in the ves- 
tibule, the upper story is reached. Here, 
first of all, one enters the spacious apart- 
ments which embrace a noble and wonder- 
fully comprehensive collection of zoological 
specimens. Darwin must have reveled in 
the choice varieties of the ancestors of his 
race which here glare out from the glass 
cases on every side, and paid especial defer- 
ence to the immense black, and certainly al- 
most human, gorilla who occupies a conspic- 
uous position in the middle of the " Central 
Saloon." He has stately company in two 
enormous stuffed giraffes, and many varie- 
ties of apes, monkeys, antelopes, goats, and 
bears. The zoological apartments, which 
comprise five or six long rooms, are scientif- 
ically classified, and there are few known 



Front Colonnade. 
Entrance Hall. 

3. Roman Gallery. 

4. Antiquities. 

5. Antiquities. 

!" New Staircases. 

First Graeco-Roman Saloon. 
9. Second Grasco-Roman Saloon. 

10. Third Grseco-Roman Saloon. 

11. Area. 

12. Assyrian Transept. 

13. Lycian Gallery. 

14. First El<rin Room. 

15. Assyrian Basement Room. 

16. Nimroud Side Gallery. 

17. Southern Egyptian Gallery 

18. Second El«in Room. 

19. Hellenic Room. 

20. Passage and Staircase. 

21. N'imroud Ciintral Saloon. 

22. Egyptian Central Saloon. 

23. Area. 

24. Kouynnjik Gallery. 

25. Xortbern E(r>-ptian Gallery. 

26. Northwest Stairs altered. 

27. Vestibule. 



Entrance to Lower Gallery. 
Entrance to West Gallery. 
West Gallery for Antiquities. 
Basement Gallery for Antiquities. 
Arched Library. 
North Library. 
North Library. 
Northwest Lobby. 
Cracherode Room. 

North Central Library. 
Centre of North Library. 
South Central Library. 
North Library. 
Banksian Room. 
North Library. 
Northeast Lobby. 
Northeast Staircase. 
Trans'jribera' Room. 


North End of Royal Library. 
Centre of Royal Library, 
.''outh End of Royal Library. 
East Additional Library. 
East Arlditional Library. 

East Additional Library. 
Manuscrijit Saloon. 
Assistant Keeper's Room. 
Grenville Library. 
South Manuscript Room. 
Passage and Staircase. 

Manuscript Rootn. 
Manuscript Rootn. 
Dusting Room. 

Principal Staircase. 
Area round New Library. 
Area round New Library. 
Area round New Library. 
Area round New Librarj-. 
roniiecting Passage. 

Connecting Passage. 



Entrance to Rending-Rooo: 







leading fipecies of animals which are not 
represented. They range from skeletons of 
mastodons and megatheria to the minutest 
lish and birds. The first room beyond the 
Central Saloon, called the " South Zoologic- 
al Gallery," contains a series of mammalia, 
with an especial wealth of four-footed quad- 
rupeds ; the " Mammalia Saloon," further on, 
has the four-handed animals ; the " Eastern 
Gallery," the bird kingdom, exhibited in or- 
ders, genera, and species, from the eagle to 
the snow - bird ; the " Northern Gallery," 
comprising five rooms, illustrating insect 
architecture, reptiles, star -fish and encri- 
nites, British animals, the eggs of British 
birds, a large variety of insects and Crus- 
tacea, and sponges ; and the " Shell Room," 
containing fifty tables of shells, both uni- 
valve and bivalve, and an exceedingly curi- 
ous exhibition. The next series of apart- 
ments contains the geological collection, 
comprised in six rooms, the fossil remains 
being exhibited in cases on the walls, and 
the minerals on the tables. This collection 
includes specimens of the extinct and mam- 
moth vegetable products which flourished 
on the earth in remote geological periods, 
with calamites, enormous ferns, the lepido- 
dendron, and coniferous trees ; specimens of 
meteoric iron, among them a part of a mass 
weighing 3300 pounds which fell about 
half a century ago near Treves ; of native 
copper, silver, and gold, sulphuric crystals, 
silicates, beryls, emeralds— indeed, the whole 
range of general species of discovered min- 
erals ; fossils of mammalian remains, fishes, 
ichthyosauri, the dinornis, elephants, rep- 
tiles, bivalves, and so on. 

Beyond these the "Egyptian Rooms" are 
entered, and here again the archaeologist and 
antiquary have a wide and most interesting 
field of observation. There are fourteen 
glass cases containing mummies of various 
ages and in various states of preservation, 
some dried to black crusts, and others ghast- 
ly in their horrible naturalness. In the 
cases along the walls are relics exhibiting 
the customs and usages of the subjects of 
the Ptolemys and Ramiseses, among them 
ornaments, domestic utensils, official and 
priestly costumes, works of art, and idols, 
porcelain and stone figures, articles of toilet, 
mirrors, dye-cases, and hair-pins ; here, too, 
are boxes with paints, palettes, ink-bottles, 
pen-cases, writing tablets ; trade implements, 
such as a carpenter's mallets, drills, and chis- 
els; the Egyptian housewife's needles and 
thread, and Egyptian infants' dolls. Bricks, 
terra cotta figures, Greek and Etruscan 
bronze - works, and mural paintings from 
Pompeii, with some precious pieces of Greek 
and Roman sculpture, are to be found in the 
" Temple Room," this collection having been 
formed and given to the Museum by Sir Will- 
iam Temple. Lovers of antique vci'tu would 
delight in the " Etruscan Rooms," which are 

literally crowded with the beautiful vaEes 
which are so rare among us, and so highly 
prized when possessed. These vases, found 
invariably in Etruscan and Grecian graves 
and tombs (suggesting thus their signifi- 
cance), and for the most part over two thou- 
sand years old, are of all heights, from an 
inch or two to six or seven feet. Students 
of British history find the apartments of the 
British and medieval collections the most 
attractive ; for here they find the stone tools 
and warlike implements used by the abo- 
rigines, ancient British pottery, enamelings, 
and porcelain ; paintings of the era of Ed 
ward III., the victor of Cressy, taken from 
old St. Stephen's, at Westminster ; and some 
exquisite specimens of ivory carving. The 
world-famous Portland vase is placed in this 
section ; this, it will not be forgotten, was 
taken from an old tomb near Rome three 
centuries ago, and placed in the Barberini 
Palace, whence it was taken by Sir William 
Hamilton, who sold it to the Duchess of 
Portland for 1800 guineas ; the duchess gave 
it to the Museum. It is of dark blue glass, 
has seven exquisitely graceful figures in 
white enamel, and is considered a wonder 
of the art. The " Ethnological Room" has 
a very interesting collection illustrating the 
national, domestic, military, and religious 
customs and mechanical arts of the far East 
and the far West, of China and Tartary, 
and of our own Indians, the Mexicans, and 
the PoljTiesians ; and in the " Medal Room" 
is a bewildering variety of coins, among 
which the Roman and the Anglo-Saxon are 
the fullest and most valued. The method 
and logical order in which this vast collec- 
tion, illustrating every art, science, and nat- 
ural phenomenon, is arranged constantly 
strike the thinking visitor ; there is mate- 
rial for every study, above all, for the study 
of man as he has been, as the dominion of 
arms and the refinement of civilization have 
passed from country to country and from 
continent to continent. 

When Washington Irving wrote his paper 
on "The Art of Book-makiijg" in the "Sketch 
Book," and said of the British Museum Li- 
brary that it was " an immense collection of 
volumes of all languages, many of which are 
now forgotten, and most of which are seldom 
read," the library contained about 115,000 
volumes ; in 1835 the number had swelled to 
over 200,000 ; and to-day the sum total of 
volumes exceeds a million. The beginning 
of the library was the Sloane collection, in 
1757, said to be 50,000 volumes. To this King 
George II. — perhaps because he, a dapper lit- 
tle German, couldn't read English, or, if he 
could, cared nothing for books, nor for any 
thing except his horses and his fat old mis- 
tresses from Faderlaud — added the roval li- 
brary, which had been accumulating at the 
palaces ever since the days of Henry VII., 
miserly but valiant Richmond of the play. 



This royal library is very curious : it consists 
of English theological aud historical works, 
some Latin classics, and many Spanish and 
Italian works, besides rare vellum-bound and 
illuminated volumes, presentation copies to 
their majesties. A yet nobler royal gift was 
made to the Museum by George IV., seven 
years before his death (1823), of the splendid 
library of his poor old father, George III. 
This was the library which had thrown Sam- 
uel Johnson into such an ecstasy on a mem- 
orable occasion. One of the Museum libra- 
rians says of it : " The library of George III. 
is not confined to any particular class of lit- 
erature, but embraces almost every species 
of human knowledge. It is a judicious se- 
lection of the best authors in all depart- 
ments of literature and science, particularly 
in history, and comprises a rich collection of 
the earliest and rarest productions of the 
press." It would take up more space than 
is at our disposal to enumerate the precious 
curiosities of this library ; Caxton's books 
abound, and so do Wynkyn de Wade's, and 
Pynson's. Here is Le Fevre's " Troy" (Cax- 
ton, 1470) ; the " Book of St. Alban's," 1486 ; 
many books with the autographs of the fa- 
mous owners or authors, among them Lord 
Bacon, Michael Angelo, Charles I., Essex, 
Katherine Parr, Ben Jonson, Luther, Milton, 
Newton, Voltaire, Swift, and Sir Walter 
Scott; the "first Reformed Prayer-Book of 
Edward VI.," printed in 1549 ; and a multi- 
tude of others not less curious. It may be 
added that this collection includes the first 
edition of several of Shakspeare's plays, and 
that in the general catalogue of the Museum 
the heading " William Shakspeare" fills tico 
folio volumes. There are first editions of al- 
most every famous English work extant. The 
Museum contains seventy-five difierent edi- 
tions of " Pilgrim's Progress" in English, and 
twenty-nine in other lainguages, including 
Arabic and Bengalee ; seventy -two of " Para- 
dise Lost" in English, and fifty-two in other 
tongues ; seventy-four of " Robinson Cru- 
soe" in English, and twenty-six in other 
tongues — and so on for many pages, had we 
the pages to spare in which to include all 
that is curious under this head. From the 
two royal libraries one may observe the 
literary tastes of the English sovereigns. 
Elizabeth seems to have been an attentive 
reader ; Henry VIII. read very little, but had 
enough sense to preserve his father's books ; 
Charles I., as well as his pedantic father, 
James I., liked religious, political, and phil- 
osophical works; Charles II., what little he 
read, evidently preferred light literature; 
George III. probably read a great deal of 
history; the other Brunswickers nothing 
at all. 

To the libraries thus united at the Muse- 
um were added grndually many private col- 
lections, some of which have already been 
generally mentioned. Of these the most im- 

I portant, perhaps, was that of the Right Hon. 
Thomas Grenville, who died in 1846, at the 
age of ninety-one, after a stirring public ca- 
reer. Mr. Grenville was a relative of Pitt's, 
and was the English plenipotentiary who ne- 
gotiated the peace between America and En- 
gland, after the Revolution, with Dr. Frank- 
lin ; he was afterward First Lord of the Ad- 
miralty in Fox's " cabinet of all the talents," 
of which his brother was Premier. His li- 
brary comprised about 20,000 volumes, and 
included rare editions of Homer, ^sop, the 
Bible, the Latin classics (among them the 
Aldine Virgil, 1505), and of the older English 
poets and historians. The contributed li- 
braries of Dr. Burney, Dr. Tyrwhitt, Sir R. 
Musgrave, and Sir Joseph Banks added 
many valuable works aud series, while the 
annual purchases of foreign works, and the 
law requiring every English publisher to 
furnish copies of all publications gratis to 
the Museum, increase the library by about 
20,000 volumes a year. Besides the collec- 
tion of bound volumes, there are immense 
masses of pamphlets, newspapers, periodic- 
als, and manuscripts. The newspaper files 
are replete with interest. The earliest of 
these bears the date of 1601, seven years be- 
fore Milton's birth, and when Shakspeare 
was in his prime. Therein may be found 
accounts of Elizabeth's state balls, where 
gallant Raleigh and astute Bacon attended ; 
the discontents of Charles I.'s time may be 
traced — at first obscurely hinted, then grow- 
ing always more distinct, until the catas- 
trophe comes; the sanctimoniousness of the 
Commonwealth, the relajjse of the Restora- 
tion, may be noted ; you may find echoes of 
the wars of factions and churches in the days 
of the last Stuart, and court circulars in 
which Addison is presented to majesty, and 
"literary notis" announcing the completion 
of a new poem by " A. Pope, Esquire," or a 
biting satire by " the Reverend Jonathan 
Swift ;" how " last night Duke Hamilton and 
my Lord Mohun fought in Hyde Park — my 
lord is dead of his wound ;" and then you 
come to the name of Pitt, pitting page after 

j page with the brief, pregnant name, and the 
Napoleonic hurly-burly; Waterloo, in the 
biggest of types known half a century ago ; 
and so on, down to the American civil war, 
and the fierce battles of Frank and Teuton 
in 1870. 

The manuscript department has made 
many a secret and sealed book of the past a 
1 living letter in the hands of sucli historians 
as Hallam, Fronde, Stnnhoi)e, and Lcckey. 
Many of its contciitH are contribiitioiiH by 
the state of unofiicial memoirs and corre- 
spondence which before had lain musty and 
neglected in the State Paper and other of- 
fices. To tliese have l)een gradually adf'.ed 
private collections of manuscripts left by 
[ statesmen, chroiiic-h-rs, and anti<inarianH, of 
I which the chief are, the Cottonian maun- 



scripts, collected by Sir Robert Cotton, 
bought by the nation in 1701 ; the Harleian 
manuscripts, in 7639 volumes; the Lans- 
downe, 1245 volumes; the Royal, 1950 vol- 
umes ; the Sloane, 4100 volumes ; the Arun- 
del, 550 volumes ; the Burney, 524 volumes ; 
the "Additional" (miscellaneous), 15,000; 
and 4000 " Oriental" manuscripts. The ex- 
hibition of some of the manuscripts and let- 
ters of which the Museum is the repository, 
in the library apartments on the left of the 
entrance hall, is one of the most interesting 
in the building. There are choice specimens 
of the original works and handwritings of 
the famous in war, literature, politics, and 
royalty, carefully preserved in glass cases, 
and visible to all the world. The believer 
in the theory that handwriting is an index 
of character has here a fertile field for study. 
Here is an old mortgage deed, bearing the 
quaint and almost illegible signature, " Will- 
iam Shakespeare;" and just by, an agreement, 
written and signed by John Milton, in which 
he disposes of " Paradise Lost" (April, 1667) 
to Samuel Simmons, the terms of sale being 
five pounds down, five pounds more when 
thirteen hundred were sold, and five pounds 
additional for each additional thirteen hun- 
dred sold. Samuel Rogers, who bought this 
document for one hundred guineas, present- 
ed it to the Museum. The old feudal days 
are vividly reiDroduced by the original char- 
ters granted to the barons by William Rufus 
and Henry I. ; and more curious than all is 
the identical Magna Charta, wrung from 
John Lackland, old and yellow, the writing 
almost gone, torn, musty, but still bearing 
the marks of royal assent in the illumina- 
tion and a pitiful remnant of the royal seal. 
There is a legal document signed by Ed- 
mund Spenser, the original manuscripts of 
Sterne's " Sentimental Journey," Johnson's 
tragedy of "Irene," Scott's " Kenilworth," 
Pope's " Iliad," Macaulay's History, and one 
of Ariosto's longer poems ; a dispatch writ- 
ten in Wellington's own hand on the field 
of Waterloo ; and in the same case a plan of 
the battle of the Nile, drawn with pen and 
ink by its victor. Lord •Nelson and Bronte ; 
the original " Basilikou Doron," the literary 
"royal gift" of James I. to a grateful na- 
tion ; the will of poor Mary Queen of Scots ; 
the wise diary, in a very handsome hand, of 
John Locke ; Frederick the Great's pedant- 
ries, written in atrocious French, and in a 
small, nervous, crami)ed hand; the journal, 
in an ill-spelled, soldierly scrawl, of unfortu- 
nate young Monmouth, who tried to conquer 
the crown of England; a poem of Tasso's; 
autographs of almost every English sover- 
eign from Richard the Lion-Hearted to her 
X)resent majesty, of Peter the Great, Cather- 
ine de Medicis, Gustavus Adolphus, Charles 
XIL, and a host of French Henrys and Lou- 
ises ; characteristic letters of Raleigh, Wol- 
sey, Knox, Leicester, Montrose, Bacon, New- 

j ton, Johnson,Voltaire, Marlborough, and Ru- 
pert ; of Rubens, Rembrandt, Vandyck, and 
! Hogarth ; of Leibnitz, Galileo, Descartes, 
I Pascal, Goethe, and Schiller ; of Racine, Cor- 
neille, and Moliere; of Dr^den, Addison, 
Swift, and Pope; the Pitts and the Foxes, 
Sheridan and Burke, Byron, Wordsworth, 
Coleridge, and Scott. The curiosities of 
this and the contiguous apartments, in the 
shape of illuminated books, prints, engrav- 
ings, illustrations, specimens of decoration 
and binding, are an epitomized history by 
example of the progress of the various arts 
which enter into the science of .book-mak- 
ing, and the reproduction of painting and 
sculpture on paper. 

The great reading-room of the Museum is 
the almost daily resort of many of the men 
and women whose names are famous here as 
there, yet such is the democracy of its gov- 
ernment, the humblest and obscurest of au- 
thors, would-be authors, amateur dabblers 
in books, and mere pleasure-seeking novel- 
readers may, by complying with certain 
forms, jostle the world-renowned poet at the 
threshold, or sit cheek by jowl with an es- 
sayist and reviewer in the luxurious, leath- 
er-bound arm-chairs provided for all the 
world. One, as he sits there, is sometimes 
startled, as he refreshes his eyes a moment 
by glancing ofi" his book and round upon his 
neighbors, to see just beside him a familiar 
face — a face that has many a time looked 
out on him from frontispieces of half-calf 
volumes, or in the windows of photographers 
and bookstores. So, cozily ensconced in a 
spacious fauteuil, with a pile of books which 
have been summoned from the vasty ocean 
of surrounding shelves scattered about the 
desk, have I many times recognized these 
historic faces. More than once the rotund 
figure and fat, red, Falstaff" features of Mark 
Lemon bustled by ; I have seen the tall, boy- 
ish form, deathly white and thoughtful, yet 
youthful face, of Swinburne, sitting close over 
his books ; Browning, true poet's face, calm, 
deep, large, dark eyed, gray-haired, and gray- 
bearded ; Lewes, the philosopher, and his il- 
lustrious wife, George Eliot ; Fronde, seem- 
ing more like a scholarly New Euglander 
than like an Old Euglander, with fine, con- 
templative, pale, thinnish features, and a 
sharp, penetrating, brown eye ; once, the 
venerable and never-to-be-forgotten head 
and form of Carlyle, with large brow, deep- 
sunken eyes, and shaggy white hair and 
beard; Charles Reade, with his full face, 
small eyes, and bald crown ; and Wilkie 
Collins, with full beard and mustache, large, 
round, blue eyes, and quick, prompt manner. 

The small collection at Mont;igue House 
was not accessible to the literary world 
without much red tape and difficulty. In 
July, 1759, there were only five readers who 
enjoyed the privilege of the reading-room. 
Only the privileged few could reach it. As 



the accumulations of curiosities and books 
went on, the aristocratic old mansion be- 
came crowded to excess. But no steps 
were taken to improve the accommodations 
until 1845, when, after much agitation of 
the conservative British mind, Montague 
House was leveled to the ground, and the 
present palace erected on its site, the build- 
ing being completed in 1847. Even tliis was 
found too small to properly accommodate the 
now greatly increased library. The room 
was all taken up by the antiquities, the 
arts, the sciences. It was not till 1854 that 

Parliament was induced to make a grant of 
over £100,000 for new buildings and fittings, 
which included £61,000 "for the erection of 
a building within the interior quadrangle" 
(the Museum being built as a hollow scpiare), 
" for the purpose of affording increased ac- 

The new roading-room was thereupon be- 
gun, and completed in three years, receiv- 
ing additional grants, which brought the 
expense of its erection up to the sum of 
£150,000. It was constructed mainly of 
iron, with brick arches between the main 



ribs, supported by twenty iron piers, hav- 
ing a sectional area of ten superficial feet 
to each, including the brick casing — two 
hundred feet in all. The form of the read- 
ing-room is circular ; it is crowned by a mag- 
nificently vast and noble dome, whose diam- 
eter is one hundred and forty feet, and its 
height one hundred and six, being inferior 
in diameter to the Pantheon at Rome by 
only two feet, and of larger dimension by 
one foot than the dome of the basilica of 
St. Peter. The circular room contains a 
million and a quarter cubic feet of space ; 
and the outlying rooms, used for book de- 
positories, contain 750,000 cubic feet more. 
Over two thousand tons of iron were used 
in the construction of the apartment, the 
weight of the materials comprised in the 
dome being four thousand two hundred 
tons, giving a weight of two hundred tons 
resting upon each pier. This immense 
apartment does not entirely fill the quad- 
rangle formed by the four wings of the 
Museum building, spaces of twenty-five or 
thirty feet being left for ventilation and 
air on all sides. The roof contains two 
separate spherical and concentric air-cham- 
bers, extending over the whole surface, one 
to equalize the temperature during extremes 
of heat and cold out-of-doors, the other to 
carry off the vitiated air from the reading- 
room. The sky-lights, lanterns, and win- 
dows throughout the building are double 
glass, to avoid the effects of condensation. 

Entering the front yard of the Museum by 
the high, gilt-tipped gate, you pass along a 
paved walk, and ascend the spacious flight 
of stone steps leading to the main entrance. 
You pull open the swinging door, and find 
yourself in the high, gray, somewhat gloomy 
vestibule, whence branch off to right and 
left the galleries, crowded with the collected 
curiosities and wonders of the world. But 
directly before you is a long, matted passage- 
way, guarded at the nearer end by two red- 
faced men in uniform. These permit you to 
pass if you are provided with a reading-room 
ticket ; or if you merely wish to take a peep 
at the huge domed room, a superior custo- 
dian may easily be found to conduct you to 
the inner door. In the passage-way is a ta- 
ble, whereon are pamphlets, guides, cata- 
logues, manuscript lists, and so on, descrip- 
tive of the library, for sale at trifling prices. 
A little further is a little apartment opening 
on the corridor where a highly respectable 
old functionary, with the (in England) rath- 
er ornamental red nose and white neck-tie, 
and having a large metal label hanging on 
his breast, receives and tickets the hats, 
cloaks, umbrellas, and canes of the incomers, 
a significant notice on the wall forbidding 
any one to fee him for this service. 

At the glass door you stand still, amazed 
at the scene before you. Whatever one may 
have imagined that reading-room to be, I 

think it will, at first sight, strike him with 
wonder. The other side of the room seems 
literally a great distance off ; the dome im- 
presses with real awe, so high is it, so vast 
its proportions, so perfect its gigantic sym- 
metry. Then the bewildering, unconceived 
multitude of books — shelves on shelves, tier 
after tier, section after section, story on 
story — rising from the floor to the curve of 
the dome; compact, complete through the 
whole immense circle ! 

The arrangements and fitting up of the 
interior of the reading-room appear to have 
taxed and rewarded the ingenuity of some 
master planner, so perfectly adapted to the 
purpose are they. In the very centre of the 
circle is a circular inclosure, within which, 
on a raised platform, are the desk of the su- 
perintendent, and the counters where are 
stationed the clerks and attendants. Along 
these counters you may see piles of books, to 
be delivered in due order to the readers, or 
to be returned in due order to the shelves. 
Outside these circular raised counters, with 
an interval of space between, is another 
circle of counters on the floor, and outside 
this, with another interval, a third circle of 
counters. These have open shelves under- 
neath, where, in long rows, are the ponderous 
tomes, ranged completely around the circles, 
which comprise the catalogue of the libra- 
ry. These are at first bewildering enough. 
Indeed, one has to learn the science of using 
this reading-room before he can use it at 
all. The mysteries of pitching upon the 
right tome, and of learning the at first in- 
comprehensible numbers and hieroglyjihics 
with which they are filled, require time 
and patience ; indeed, it is a sort of prelim- 
inary drilling to teach one how to study the 
books themselves with method. Several of 
these large tomes are catalogues to the cat- 
alogues ; and by them, in jjrocess of time, 
one gets to learn how to find a subject or 
author with little difficulty and delay. Some 
of the shelves under the counters contain 
gazetteers, dictionaries, and indexes of many 
sorts. On the counters are placed pens and 
ink, and printed tickets, having on one side 
the regulations to be observed by readers in 
applying for and returning the books or 
manuscripts, and on the other a fonn to be 
filled up with certain particulars describing 
the works sent for, and stating the number 
of the desk the reader has chosen. The 
readers' seats and tables diverge as radii 
from these central counters toward the cir- 
cumference. There are thirty-five of these 
tables ; eight, thirty-four feet long, accom- 
modate each sixteen readers on either side ; 
nine, thirty feet long, fourteen readers ; two, 
thirty feet long, eight readers (these two 
being reserved for the exclusive use of the 
lady readers) ; sixteen, six feet, accommo- 
dating two readers each. There is in the 
reading-room ample and comfortable pro- 




o o 



A. Superintendent. 

B. Catalogue Tables. 

C. Readers' Tables. 

D. Access for Attendants. 

E. Entrance from Royal Library. 

F. Entrance from North Library. 

G. For Repistration of Copyrights. 

H. Ladies' Cloak Room. 
J. Attendants' Room. 

K. Gentlemen's Cloak Room. 
L. For Gentlemen. 
M. Umbrella Room. 
N. Assistants' Room. 

vision for about three hundred readers at 
one time; each desk gives a space of over 
four feet to its occupant. A division or 
screen runs longitudinally across the desks, 
dividing one row of readers from the oppo- 
site row ; both rows facing toward the 
screen. This screen is provided with a 
liinged desk, graduated on racks, and a 
leather-covered shelf, which folds into the 
screen, for holding books. An inkstand is 
fixed in the screen next this shelf, with pen- 
holders containing quills freshly distributed 
every morning. The desk is broad and 
covered with black leather. It is made of 
iron, and its frame- work contains air-distrib- 
uting channels, contrived so that the ven- 
tilation is at the top of the screen, above 
the heads of the readers ; this apparatus is 

freely controlled by valves. Beneath the 
feet is a tubular foot-rail passing from end 
to end of the rows of desks, wherein, in cold 
weather, is introduced a current of warm 
water, of great comfort to the damp feet just 
out of the snow. The catalogue counters 
are supplied with a similar ventilating and 
heating apparatus, their pedestals them- 
selves being tubes, which commimicate with 
the air-chamber below. The whole reading- 
room is fitted with hot-water pipes, set in 
radiating lines. A shaft, sixty feet high, 
supplies the fresh air, and the apparatus ad- 
mits a supply of fresh air for five hundred 
persons at the rate of ten cubic feet per min- 
ute. Summer ventilation is provided for by 
steam-pipes, which on the roof and dome an^ 
heated, and extract the foul air. On the side 



of the room furthest from and opposite the 
entrauce is an inclosed corridor running 
from the superintendent's desk in the cen- 
tre to a door at the circumference. This is 
used by the officers and attendants, who 
through it proceed in from and out to the 
surrounding apartments, whence most of the 
books called for by the readers are taken. 
When the reader has filled his printed form, 
he hands it to one of the attendants at the 
central desk. By him it is passed to another 
attendant, whose task it is to search out 
and bring in the works called for. They are 
laid on the central desks, and are carried by 
still another corps of employes to the read- 
er's desk, which has been designated on the 
printed ticket. I may as well describe this 
printed ticket. On one side are the regula- 
tions — that the reader must not ask for more 
than one work on the same ticket ; that the 
heading of the work wanted must be tran- 
scribed from the catalogues, with as much of 
the title as is necessary to its identification ; 
that the form must be filled in a plain, clear 
hand ; and that before the reader leaves the 
room he must return each book or set of 
books to an attendant, when he will obtain 
the corresponding ticket (which he has sent 
in for the books, and which is retained at 
the desk), the reader being responsible for 
the books as long as the ticket remains un- 
canceled. They are canceled with a blue 
lead-pencil, and returned on receipt of the 
books. The reader is further admonished 
that he must on no account take a book or 
manuscript out of the reading-room ; and 
further, that permission to use the reading- 
room will be withdrawn from any person 
who writes or makes marks on any part of a 
printed book or manuscript. On the other 
side of the printed ticket is the blank form, 
which must be filled by stating the press 
mark, heading, and title of the work wanted, 
place and date of its publication, its size 
(whether Bvo, or 12mo, or what), the date, 
signature, and number of desk. I may add 
that the reader may choose any desk which 
he may find vacant ; and that the rows of 
desks are designated by letters. A, B, C, etc., 
while each desk is numbered 1, 2, 3, etc. ; 
and the desk is identified, say, as D 3, or G 6, 
which enables the attendant to find it with- 
out difficulty. 

The i)roces8 is, then, simply this: the 
reader first selects his desk, and notes its 
number, and the letter designating its row. 
He then goes to the catalogues, which are in 
manuscript, and constantly added to, and as 
he finds the books that he wishes to consult, 
tills up for each woik (no matter how many 
its volumes) one of the printed forms. He 
may thus order as many books as he chooses. 
He hands the forms in, returns to his desk, 
and waits. It usually takes about half an 
liour before the books are laid before him. 
Meanwhile he may, if he chooses, wander 

along the shelves in the circular room, take 
down any he pleases, consult them, or carry 
them to his desk to read. This is a precious 
l)rivilege, for here are ranged, in methodical 
divisions, most of the standard works on the 
various branches of learning, as well as the 
reviews, monthlies, and weeklies, diction- 
aries of all languages, biographical works, 
encyclopedias. Parliamentary records, topo- 
graphical works, and fictions. A chart of 
the room is found on the catalogue counters. 
This shows in sections, and between the ra- 
diating rows of desks, the various divisions 
of the shelves. For instance, the shelves 
between row A and row B might be histor- 
ical w^orks, between B and C i)hilosophical. 
between C and D fiction, and so on ; so that 
a glance at the chart, and then at the letters 
marked at the head of each row of desks, 
shows at once where any particular class of 
works may be found. It is hard to imagine 
a more simple or more perfect system. 

The total number of volumes in the read- 
ing-room and the adjacent apartments (in- 
cluding the room of typographical curiosi- 
ties and antiquities, "where one sees the fa.- 
mous autographs — the Magna Charta, Shaks- 
peare's signature, and so on) is nearly, if 
not quite, three-quarters of a million. This 
enormous figure does not include the almost 
countless tracts, jiamphlets, manuscripts, and 
newspaper files. In one year 11,000 vol- 
umes and 27,000 parts of volumes were add- 
ed to this great estate of learning ; vrhile 
counting every acquisition, pamphlet as well 
as volume, the total reached 163,000 ! The 
number of volumes in the great "dome 
room" alone is about 80,000. Many of 
these are, however, inaccessible to the direct 
procurement of the reader, being in upper 
tiers reached by light iron staircases and 
galleries only used by the attendants. Of 
the volumes within the reach, and accessible 
to the free use, of the reader there are some 
20,000. The structure of the book-cases is. 
to one interested in interior architecture, 
one of the most curious of the many marvels 
of the Museum. They are very simply built, 
the uprights being formed of malleable iron, 
galvanized and framed togetlier, having 
beechen w^ood fillets inserted between the 
iron to receive the brass pins on which the 
shelves rest. The frame-work sustains the 
iron perforated floors of the light galleries, 
a part of w hich is a clear space between the 
back of the shelves and the flooring, by which 
the light of the rear sky-lights is thrown 
down the backs of the books on each tier, so 
that the lettering may be distinct through 
the book ranges. The shelves themselves 
are of galvanized plate, edged with wain- 
scot, covered with russet-colored leather, and 
having attached a " book - fall." Wadded 
pads are set at either end of the shelves to 
prevent injury to the binding when the books 
are taken out or restored to their places. 



Uxcept in the case of the external walls, the 
l>ook-cases are double, the books being placed 
on both sides, and an iron-work lattice fixed 
for their separation longitudinally. A curi- 
ous statistician has discovered that the edi- 
fice contains three lineal miles of book-cases 
eight feet high, and twenty-five miles of 
shelves ; and descending to a still minuter 
detail, calculated that the leaves of the vol- 
umes therein, placed edge to edge, would 
extend 25,000 miles, or more than thrice the 
globe's diameter. 

The decoration of this great reading-room 
has been well cared for, and is throughout 
characteristic of that sort of substantial and 
solid elegance in which the English delight, 
and which is an " English trait." The superb 
interior dome — the architectural marvel of 
the place — is relieved by light colors, and 
adorned with pure and tasteful gilding; 
this gives a cheerful tinge to the whole vast 
ai3artment. The concave of the dome is di- 
vided into twenty broad stripes by moulded 
ribs, gilded with unalloyed gold-leaf, the 
edges fringed with a leaf-pattern scalloped 
edge. Each stripe, or section, has a circu- 
lar-headed window, with three panels above 
(the central medallion - shaped), bordered 
with gilt mouldings, the field of the panels 
being sky - blue, and the margins a deep 
cream-color. The central medallion at the 
top has the royal monogram, alternated with 
the imperial crown. The lower cornice is 
massive and gilded ; and the compartments 
of the dome, the ribs and bases, the book- 
cases and galleries, the panels and railings, 
are all richly adorned with cheerful colors, 
the purest gilding, and elaborate (but not 
gingerbread) ornamentation. 

Thus is this splendid boon, given to the 
nation by the nation, surrounded by every 
accessory to render its use easy and practi- 
cable, its occupancy cheerful and comfort- 
able, and its sphere harmonious with the 
purpose for which it exists. That it is ap- 
preciated, one only needs to look through 
the glass door and observe the human busy 
bees sucking in the sweets which they find 
in books. In the course of a year between 
seventy-five and one hundred thousand per- 
sons make use of the reading-room. An av- 
erage day's attendance comprises some two 
hundred persons. The utmost order, deco- 
rum, and quiet method prevail. One of the 
superior officers of the library has the gen- 
eral supervision over the reading-room, who 
is always to be found at the superintendent's 
desk in the centre of the hall. To him is 
confided not only the general task of over- 
seeiug that the attendants perform their 
duty with order and celerity, and preserving 
the decorum of the room — he also is charged 
with the special duty of assisting the read- 
ers in their researches. 

The rules of admission as a reader to the 
reading-room are broad and liberal, and in- 
VoL. XLVL— No. 272.— 14 

terpose no obstacle to any student, however 
humble and obscure, who honestly desires 
to use its privileges. Those privileges are 
quite as accessible to foreigners as to Lon- 

The reading-room is open on every week- 
day except certain church holidays, and the 
first weeks in January, May, and September 
(for putting in order and repairs), from nine 
till four in the winter, five in fall and spring, 
and six in summer. 

With all the English conservatism and 
hesitation in establishing popular institu- 
tions, and love of restricting and hedging 
about with conditions and qualifications 
great public privileges, no city of our re- 
public can show a more substantial or more 
liberally managed public benefit than this 
reading-room. The reality of its freedom, 
its order, and its entire adaptability to an- 
swer its purpose, impress one. Here is one 
place where, without fee or favor, the hum- 
ble student and the foreign scholar may 
partake of, and luxuriate in, the wealth of 
England; may participate in the marvel- 
ous range of lore, in every tongue, of ev- 
ery art and science, which her wealth, nobly 
bestowed, has collected. I can think of no 
happier destiny for the ardent lover of books, 
for a historian, a man of science, a statisti- 
cian, a novelist, or a mere student absorptive 
but not fruitful, than to have cozy lodgings 
in the vicinity of Russell Square, a satisfac- 
tory English landlady, and a ticket — daily 
used — to the reading-room. He may sit in 
one of the roomy fauteuils as luxuriously as 
the West End lord in his velvet-lined ma- 
hogany, and may look round with a sense of 
ownership (for their use and fruits are freely 
his) upon a far prouder possession of learn- 
ing than the greatest West End lord can 
boast. He is in goodly company ; for here 
burrow, almost invariably, the scholars, ro- 
mancers, philosophers of England. He sits, 
coequal in his privileges, with the British 
aristocracy of brain. He is served as faith- 
fully and as quickly as is the minister of 
state by his favorite private secretaries. 
There is the whole day long to revel, un- 
interrupted if he will, in his beloved stud- 
ies, in a tranquil and studious sphere, out 
of hearing of the bustle of the streets, though 
here is busiest London roaring all about 
him. If he grows weary for the while of 
his books and the quiet, he may walk out 
and wander through those seemingly endless 
corridors where are literally crowded the an- 
tiquities of Egypt and of Phttinicia, of An- 
tioch and Afghanistan, of Athens and Rome ; 
where are collected the marvels of geology 
and of mechanical science, of biology .'ind 
the arts, ancient, medieval, and nuxlcni. He 
may read up his subject in the reading-room, 
and stepping into a neighboring corridor, find 
it practically illustrated in the glass cases 
which surround him. 



289— A VISION. 

I HAD lost all hope of inheriting my un- 
cle's estate at Martinique when, through 
some mysterious freak, he left it in his will 
to an utter stranger, Paul Wade by name, 
who had lived Avith my uncle since the death 
of my cousin Athalie in New York. This 
stranger seemed to be beloved as a son by 
my uncle, and it was probable that this beau- 
tiful inheritance would be forever estranged 
from the name and family of Gervase. It 
was therefore a delightful surprise to me to 
receive a letter from Mr. Wade, inviting me 
to visit him at Martinique, stating that his 
health was failing, and he would be glad if, 
as his rightful heir, I would remain w^th 
him and take charge of the estate. I lost 
no time in hastening to him, and finding him, 
although very reticent and preoccupied in 
his manner, a most excellent fellow at heart, 
was careful not to pester him with intrusive 

We got on very well together, and he was 
even good enough to tell me that he enter- 
tained a sincere regard for me, for which I 
was, in good truth, very grateful. 

This happened one night in the library at 
Martinique. We had been sitting there si- 
lently together. About us there was every 
luxury conceivable ; the grounds outside 
were in themselves an earthly paradise ; but 
somehow I had fallen into a singular reverie. 
I looked for a while at the ghostly shadows 
of the trees upon the garden walk outside. 
They seemed in the weird moonlight to be 
dancing an elfish measure to the melancholy 
cadence of the waves breaking upon the dis- 
tant shore. The silence became oppressive. 

" Perhaps you'll laugh at me, Paul," I said, 
"but in a sentimental way I believe in ghosts. 
Not the fellows that stalk about in white 
sheets, you know, but the communion of a 
heavenly spirit with an earthly one." 

He started, and looked at me earnestly. 
Then he stretched out his hand to me across 
the library table. 

I like you very much, Antoine," he said, 
" and have great reason to be thankful you 
are to inherit the estate. I became its own- 
er through just such a communion as you 
spoke of — through the agency of a spirit." 

I dropped his hand, and poured out for 
myself some wine. 

" Come with me," he cried, snatching up a 
candle ; and following him through the spa- 
cious corridor, I entered the bed-chamber of 
my host. It fronted the sea, and, although 
I)lainly furnished, was perhaps the most at- 
tractive room in the house. Immediately 
over the mantel was a large picture covered 
with some fleecy drapery, through which I 
could see the faint outline of a dead woman 
lying upon a velvet pall. Without raising 
the curtain that concealed the picture, he 
thi'ust his hand under it^ and grasping some 

letters that were put into the frame, hurried 
me out of the room again, and back to our 
table in the library. 

"I need these," he said, seating himself, 
and placing the letters before him, " to com- 
jdete the history of the jjicture you saw just 

" I beg your pardon," I said. " You forgot 
to allow me to see it. I must confess," I 
added, yielding to a reasonable curiosity, " I 
should like to very much." 

"It is of no interest to any one but me," 
he rejoined, quickly, " as you will see when, 
you hear the following story :" 

I entered the city of New York (Mr. Wade 
continued) one cold night in December. Un- 
der the black, cold, infinite sky that night 
there was not a creature more absolutely 
friendless than I. Between me and starva- 
tion there rested a very little money, a crude 
idea of color, some talent in drawing, and a 
resolute will to become a painter. I was in 
search of a studio in the great metropolis^ 
All that I needed was a garret with an up- 
per light, and this I stumbled upon in an 
old house in West Broadway. It was dififi- 
culf to induce the miserable old Frenchmait 
that kept the store below to let me have the 
room. He wanted to thrust me into every 
nook in the old barrack but the garret, the 
very one that was necessary to me. The 
man was old, with little piercing gray eyes, 
skin like a piece of parchment, and a nose 
and chin that almost met. Greed of the 
most rapacious and repelling kind was writ- 
ten upon every line of his face, I offered 
him a month's rent in advance for his gar- 
ret, and the sight of the money finished the 
bargain. He signed the receipt with his 
shaky skeleton claws. His name was Bap- 
tiste Perret. 

Having procured i)OSsession of my room,. 
I proceeded to explore it. A matter of five 
minutes finished the research. It was large 
and square, and gloomy to desolation. A 
dim light struggled in from the upper win- 
dow through the dirt and grime of ages. 
The dingy boards were full of cracks and 
holes ; the old black rafters concealed an 
army of spiders, and the immense festoons 
of webs were so ingeniously contrived as to 
call forth a species of admiration. An old 
wooden bedstead leaned up against the wall 
in one corner; in another reclined a chair 
minus a back. This comprised the furni- 
ture of the room. An open fire-place yawned 
before me, suggestive of the genial warmth 
that poverty denied me. I looked about me 
dejectedly. What a horrible future loomed 
up before me! To pass day after day in 
this dingy den, perhaps in the end to die 
here of starvation ! I, who loved light and 
warmth and luxury, to be condemned to the 
desolation of this abominable garret ! I 
started up and fled from the house. I went 

No. 289— A VISION. 


out in the cold December night, and walked 
restlessly up and down, arguing with myself 
manfully. At the end of an hour I went 
back to my garret with a few candles and 
some crackers. I resolved firmly that, come 
what might, that garret for the time should 
be my home. It was after ten when I lay 
down upon the bed in the corner and strove 
to sleep. I found it impossible. It was 
too cold. There was but one blanket, and 
that of the thinnest and most miserable 
quality. A fierce wind raCttled at the win- 
dows and swept through the room. My 
very bones ached, and shaking as if with 
an ague, I strove in vain to chafe a little 
warmth into my limbs. I lay thus wide 
awake for a couple of hours. 

Suddenly I felt a singular numb sensation 
creeping over me. A delicious warmth 
spread itself about me, crept into my lungs, 
ar]_d lifted the oppression from my chest. I 
felt as if transported from that terrible region 
in Dante's " Inferno," where the lost are ini- | 
bedded in eternal fields of ice, to the realms | 
of paradise. The thought struck me that j 
I had gone through with the preliminary j 
torture of freezing, and had reached that j 
fatal stage of numbness which had been de- i 
scribed to me as a blissful reaction. I re- 
solved not to struggle against it in the least. 
If death had come to me in this shape, it 
was too comfortable to resist. 

I became, however, gradually conscious 
of a feeling that startled me. / was certain 
there was something or somebodij in that room 
loith me! 

Tliis fancy was a troublesome one, for to 
prove the truth of my conviction I was com- 
pelled to get out of bed and search the room. 
I aroused myself from my trance reluctantly, 
and strove to reach the mantel, where I had 
left my candle and matches. As I groped 
along the floor my hand suddenl}'^ came in 
contact with something like drapery. I 
started back wondering, and recalled to my- 
self the utter bareness of the room when I 
went to bed. Then I again stretched forth 
my hand. I distinctly felt a hard substance 
— a square beam of wood, with folds of cloth 
hanging about it. Resolving to see this 
strange article of furniture, I got upon my 
feet and walked directly to the wall, feeling 
my way around the room until I reached 
the mantel. Lighting my candle, I looked 
eagerly about me. Not a trace of any thing 
could be seen. The room was as bare and 
desolate as ever. More bare and desolate, 
for it was colder than before. I Avent back 
to bed again, and shivered there till morn- 
ing. The next day I passed in a futile effort 
to paint. I arranged my easel, stretched my 
canvas, laid out my colors, and endeavored 
to sketch out the outlines of a picture. The 
effort was a wretched one, and I went out 
for a walk. 

Passing my landlord on the rickety staiis, 

it occurred to me to ask of him the meaninc: 
of the singular piece of furniture I had found 
in my room the night before. 

"Tell me, Mr. Perret," I said, "do you 
keep a ghost up in my garret ?" 

He started back, an ashy jjallor in his face. 

" Don't get frightened," I hastened to add ; 
" it's only the ghost of a table or couch, or 
something in the furniture line ; I can swear 
I felt two posts of wood in the middle of the 
floor, with some sort of drapery about them." 

Mr. Perret did not reply, and I went 
through the store out into the street. It ap- 
peared to me that my landlord did not do a 
very thriving business, as the most abject 
poverty and wretchedness seemed to reign 
in the great barren room. It was something 
in the pawnbroker way, as there were bun- 
dles and boxes with tickets upon them ; but 
a look of mould and desolation was upon 
every thing. 

Getting back about nightfall, I lighted my 
candle, with a bustling attempt at cheer that 
was pitiably abortive. The fact was, I was 
never made to rough it in solitude of this 
miserable kind. Then it was impossible to 
fight against the cold that reigned in my 
garret. It made the teeth chatter in my 
head, the blood congeal in my veins, and I 
looked back with longing to the feeling of 
relief I had felt upon the previous night. I 
was glad when the time came for me to creep 
under my wretched blanket. My delight 
may be imagined when, after suffering an 
agony of cold, I felt suddenly again the de- 
licious warmth of the night before — the soft 
air, the impalpable, vague luxury of my for- 
mer trance. I remained perfectly quiet, re- 
solving this time not to move. 

But against my will, although I r(;solute- 
ly strove against it, I became conscious that 
the something of the night before was in the 
room with me again ; and although I would 
much rather not have investigated the mys- 
tery, I was in a manner compelled to again 
get out of bed and grope about the floor. 

Suddenly my hand touched the drapery of 
cloth, and in withdrawing it I felt again the 
beam of wood. 

I confess I was startled. I resolved to 
grasp it, whatever it was, and drag it with 
me to the light. But upon endeavoring to 
move it, I found it was impossible — either it 
was too heavy, or it was fastened to the floor. 
I passed my hand along the folds of cloth, 
and found they extended for several feet. 
The beams of wood seemed to snjiport a 
few boards at the top, over which this cloth 
was thrown. I got ujion my feet, and placed 
my hand upon the top of the boards. 1 tlrew 
back suddenly. An icy chill struck to tlii3 
very marrow of my bones. I retreated U> 
the wall again, and, reacliing the; mantel, 
lighted my candle and look< <l al)ont me. 

Nothing, absolutely nothing, was to bo 



I remained in the chair all niglii. 

The next night I left my candle burning, 
and saw nothing but the bare room, felt 
nothing but tlie cold. 

I suffered so much with cold, disappoint- 
ment, and baffled curiosity that when night 
came again I resolved to put away my can- 
dle. If darkness was necessary for the in- 
vestigation of this mystery, there should be 
the most Stygian obscurity. 

Nevertheless, when, upon shivering for a 
time, I felt suddenly the familiar warmth 
envelop me, the luxurious atmosphere creep 
in at my mouth and nostrils, I trembled. I 
confess it, I was seized with a nameless ter- 
ror. Chill after chill crept down my back, 
a peculiar sensation went through my scalp. 
I felt, so to say, my hair rising upon my head. 

This physical cowardice did not, however, 
deter me from pursuing my task, nor did it 
detract from my eagerness and anxiety to 
solve the whole mystery of that presence in 
the room. 

I got out of my bed and crept softly over 
the tioor. Some intuitive instinct impelled 
me to use no haste, make no noise. Gentle- 
ness and courtesy, reverence and chivalry, 
were needed here, not coarseness, nor rude 
strength, nor brutality. I reached the dra- 
pery, and extended my hand along the sub- 
stance which it covered. Suddenly the dra- 
pery stopped. My hand fell an inch or two, 
and touched a face colder than marble. 

It was a dead body which that drapery 
covered, and which lay upon those boards 
in my room. 

I had known it the night before. I had 
looked forward to it confidently, but could 
not subdue the ague that seized upon my 
limbs. An icy sweat covered me. I was 
again overcome with fear, and retreated to 
the mantel. When I lighted the candle, I 
was, of course, alone, and I cursed my cow- 
ardice bitterly. 

A week after I had become familiar with 
the presence, and had grown, horrible as it 
may seem, to look forward to its coming. 
Why not ? Desolate, abandoned, despairing 
as I was, it saved me from madness. It 
brought me warmth and dreamful ease. It 
was food for my mind, consolation to my 
heart. If the living had cast me off, the 
dead had come to comfort me. I passed 
hour after hour alone with it, and grew fa- 
miliar with it as with a companion. It was 
the body of a young girl. The outlines of 
the face were smoothly rounded, the features 
delicate and small ; the lids of the eyes were 
large and full, and the lashes fine and long. 
The teeth were regular and perfect ; and 
even the tiny ear was a marvel of exquisite 
form. The hair I felt must be of a soft gold- 
en color : it had not the vigor of black or 
brown, and passed through my hand like 
meshes of silk or floss. I could not see it. 
I could see nothing ; but instinct — fancy — 

who can tell what it was ? — taught me every 
line of the form, every color, every grace, of 
my nightly companion. 

Ah, how gracious and good was that poor 
dead girl to me! Thus early deprived of 
life and the gladness of being, she wandered 
back and brought her sweet spirit to min- 
ister to mine. Some divine womanly jjity 
led her to seek out the most wretched creat- 
ure upon earth, to shed light and joy upon 
his path. 

At last a divine inspiration seized upon 
me. Since all her loveliness was mine, why 
not copy it? I resolved to paint her, to 
have her for my own forever. 

Then, behold a hapi)y man at last ! My 
dingy garret was transformed into a palace 
of light. Day after day I lingered at my 
work, forgetting to eat or drink in my glad- 
ness. Day after day the picture grew, until 
at last I saw her ! A sweet pale face, the 
soft low brow shadowed with a cloud of 
golden hair, a delicate sensitive mouth and 
rounded chin, the glory of her eyes hidden 
by the transparent lids, a face and form 
beautiful as a woman's and holy as an an- 
gel's, abided upon my easel. The day upon 
which I finished it I was wild with delight. 
I waited for the night with feverish eager- 
ness, for I wanted to tell my pale cold girl 
all that I had done for her. 

But alas ! when night came I sought her, 
and she was not. My hand wandered in 
vain for the familiar drapery : it had van- 
ished with its sweet burden forever. I 
sought my candle, and lighted it with trem- 
bling fingers. If she had gone trom my 
picture, I must have died with sorrow, but 
she was there to gladden my eyes and com- 
fort my heart. 

What if it was the picture of a dead wom- 
an with her pall about her! To me she 
might have been lying asleep upon a couch 
of velvet in an atmospher